Lalaith
by JMK758
Summary: The Orville responds to an Emergency call which hits closely for one of the crew as the ship returns to Xelaya.
1. Call to Malmoria

Midway through Season 1 I had studied (wore out) my recordings of 'The Orville' in hopes of learning enough to craft a credible story, and then to find a setting in which to place it. I have set this work roughly between Episodes 10 & 11 and the crew is in the 6th month of their journey. The Fears with which Alara must deal are still in their future.  
This is a work of Fiction. 'The Orville' is owned by Seth McFarlane and his associates in appropriate order. I make no money on this work and only Original Characters not seen in the series are mine, characters such as

Lalaíth  
by JMK758  
Chapter One  
Call to Malmoria

Space, when not observed by specialized instruments or seen in transit through the wonders of Quantum Drive, is placid. Soundless and eternal, it paints pictures of multi-hued grandeur that belie the works of mites that seek to move through it in their tiny concerns.

One such mite, distinguished from others by 'ECV-197 Orville' painted on its port side primary hull, is one of over three thousand mighty space going vessels that represent the 'Planetary Union', mighty to itself yet not so to the limitless expanse of space.

But today the Orville, though traversing the starry decked heavens at a 'space normal' pace of tens of thousands of kilometers per second, does not appear, to the vantage of its crew, to be moving at all. Space is so vast that no speed below that imparted by its Quantum Drive is fast enough to affect the serene stillness of eternity.

On the bridge, wide, white and seemingly vast compared to other ships of lesser cast, the stillness on the huge forward monitor does not suggest calm so much as

"Is anyone else sick of sitting here?"

Isaac, the AI Science Officer seated at the starboard Science Station, turns left to the frustrated orange and black uniformed Helmsman. "The Orville is not stationary, Lieutenant." An artificial construct of the machine society of Kaylon 1, the faceless android is typically literal. Though its stated duty is to learn, understand and bring back to its world the essence of humanity, it frequently falls short of so lofty a goal. "Its current pace is eighty four thousand four hundred sixty two point four three seven five kilometers per Earth second on a course of –"

"I got your course," Navigator John LaMarr, seated left of his impatient partner Gordon Malloy, gripes at his mechanical crew mate. He looks right and back to the bridge's center where the Captain and First Officer, their uniform jackets blue for Command, sit conversing in quiet tones that probably have too much humor in them already.

"Don't try to bring me into this," Captain Edward Mercer, seated at the starboard side of the Command pair, advises. His smile is three quarters amusement coupled with one quarter warning.

At his left First Officer Kelly Grayson seconds the recommendation.

x

Isaac, however, is not yet finished. "This speed is considered optimal for Chief Engineer Newton to make certain that–"

"no moss grows on my butt."

Helmsman Malloy, with his Irish humor up and despite his impatience, can always be counted upon to ease stress with wit, usually of the most prosaic kind.

The pace is necessary, however. Two hours after a space battle destined to go into history as 'to be forgotten' Lt. Cdr. Steven Newton had come to Mercer with a lengthy list of adjustments that must be made to the engines, the result of wear and damage caused by the brief yet dramatic skirmish with the Krill.

Ever since the confrontation centered around the Ankhana, the central book to the Krill religion / culture, relations between the two races have soured further rather than improving as Union Central had hoped. True, they have the document, an impressively large and comprehensive tome, but without the context and understanding of nuances and cultural perspective the document is as useful as a human Bible would be to the Krill - not at all.

In fact, the capture of an intact Cruiser had done more to increase the Union's understanding of the Krill, though not in the areas of philosophy and sociology.

This most recent clash had been unimpressive, the unadvised drawing of a Scout upon the Union Starship. Mercer had restrained their response, hoping ineffectually that diplomacy could win the day. He hadn't wanted to play the Philistine in this David v. Goliath conflict but the Krill would not be put off.

The attacker's determination had ultimately sealed their fate, one vastly different from that Earthly confrontation.

x

The Krill had managed to get in a few smacks against the many times larger and more powerful vessel, managing to inflict minor damage which could not be repaired under full speed. The sublight drive also needs adjustments that cannot be made with the ship at station keeping.

However, as Orville presently has no place it must rush to with any particular urgency, a true divergence from what has become the norm, Mercer had ordered the ship four parsecs from that area lest the infant have a big brother around and then ordered the near crawl, for any space normal speed appears to be a stop against the backdrop of stars quadrillions of kilometers distant.

That had been four plus hours ago, plenty of time for contemplating the heavens – or the heavenly features of Kelly Grayson at his left or the scarlet uniformed Xelayan Lieutenant Alara Kitan seated beyond her.

Or for his Navigator to get antsy.

Blue and black uniformed Commander Grayson, though seated but two feet away, leans an inch right and whispers "How long did Newton say it will last?"

Mercer glances at the bridge chronometer. "Another forty five minutes," he says as quietly. He doesn't mind, the forward view is almost as captivating as the women to his left.

Kelly glances forward, then shares with her chief that "Gordon's going to start chewing his board in thirty."

x

Lt. Kitan, at the port side forward Communications station, turns to the officers in the center seats, her manner distinctly more alert than her fellows'. "Captain, Admiral Halsey on Priority Channel."

The glance Mercer and Grayson exchange is a silent quip that it 'must be important', a certainty when that frequency is used. "Sounds like Mr. Nelson had better be finished with his fine tuning. On the screen, Alara." A few touches of controls and the huge wraparound forward viewscreen is dominated by the Ultrawave image of the gray haired Admiral, his purple jacket and five gold starred epaulets shining in the sunlight from the window that spans the left wall and offers a stupendous view of New York. On the wood paneled wall behind him is an enlarged silver representation of the Planetary Union Central crest.

"What can we do for you, Admiral?"

"Captain, I have bad news. I'm glad to catch you on the bridge, it'll save the time over repeating this but please summon your CMO. We're going to need her too."

Mercer glances left to Kitan to confirm the call has gone out at the first mention of the woman. It will take only moments for Chief Medical Officer Claire Finn to reach the bridge.

Blue/black uniformed Lt. Cmdr. Bortus, seated at port side Operations one station further aft of Kitan, is alert. As Second Officer, the Moclan is responsible for seeing the ship is ready for all contingencies, most especially battle. "I have informed Lieutenant Commander Newton that we will accelerate to full speed immediately," he announces, his basso profundo voice cutting through all other sound.

"What did he say?"

Bortus glances right to the forward screen before resuming his report to his chief. "I do not believe you want me to report that with the Admiral on the open line."

"Never mind, we'll be ready." To the view dominating screen and the Admiral's slight smile even in the tension: "Sir, what does this involve?"

His gaze shifts right for a moment. "Lt. Kitan, I am sorry but this affects you most severely." It only took that brief segue for green uniformed Claire Finn, at a respectable pace, to pass the wide main door already open behind them. She has seen and heard Halsey's caveat and takes a place to the right of Command.

x

"There is no gentle way to say this. Two Earth days ago a seismic disturbance of Richter magnitude 10 hit Xelaya's island continent of Malmoria." In his brief glance to his Chief of Security Mercer reads unguarded distress between that sentence and what follows.

"As you may know, Captain, Xelaya is over nine times as large as Earth but Malmoria is correspondingly as large as Earth's Australia, occupying a similar percentage of the planet, maybe even a bit more and situated in the northern hemisphere. The initial magnitude 10 tremor lasted for 103 seconds, an exceptionally long period, and since then there have been two significant aftershocks, magnitude 9.83 for 79 seconds and 9.69 for 58, collectively 240 seconds. There were also numerous aftershocks of gradually diminishing severity that lasted another half of a Xelayan day.

"The last tremors on that continent were over six hundred years ago. The tectonic plates were considered to be a 'dead fault'."

There's not much more that need be said, yet he gives the men and women time to absorb the impact of the mental picture. It has probably been centuries since anyone built to withstand even a minor trembler, explaining the extent of devastation. Additionally, it now seems that the quiet was actually hiding a steady buildup of stress that finally came blasting out on one horrific day.

"The epicenter was nearly dead center of the continent but even at the shores the initial quake registered 3.4."

x

Mercer feels blood drop from his face. A 'normal' quake of such massive force such as might be expected on Earth has a devastation zone a few score kilometers across, falling off as distances increase. To be 3.4 over a thousand kilometers away, this verbal picture is almost beyond imagining but Halsey is not finished.

"Since it is a huge island continent the coastline was subjected to tsunami that came in from all sides, waves reaching to _84_ _meters_. The coastline was devastated by waves covering 8% of the continent. It's estimated it'll take more than a week for the main volume of water to withdraw, leaving an unknowable volume behind. There is no figure of the number lost along the surrounding coastline."

x

No one speaks, all gazes even against will turned to the red uniformed Security Chief as first shock and then worse emotions flood across her normally pale features, her white face drained of blood. "Ad –" she tries, but when she can get the words out they come as a whisper. "Admiral, how man – many?"

His words are soft but no tone can ease the horror. "Last word we have is one hundred fifteen million dead, a hundred seven million injured. We have no confirmed figures, as I said, on those lost inland and nothing at all for the coastlines."

Mercer sees Kitan no longer breathing, her face chalk white. Newton had better be finished. "Admiral, the Orville stands ready to assist. We can be at Xelaya in..."

Lt. John LaMarr knows the pause is making room for him. He's already calculated the figure and he would rip out his throat rather than say "If we rip the hell out of Newton's repairs, two point eight seven days."

Mercer's expression is locked but LaMarr sees he's ripped Alara's heart out of her chest.

x

"Captain, humanitarian efforts are being coordinated by the Union and resources in the sector. You are needed in another capacity."

"Whatever we can do, Admiral."

"The capital city of Quintaru is leveled. The government of Malmoria is a dynastic monarchy, established as such in a time when it was one of three nations so organized and the entire ruling family is among the seventeen million causalities in that city. There is no one to organize either the government response to this tragedy or operations afterward, and the pervasive nature of the monarchy results in no parallel structure of responsibility. The government has virtually come to a standstill. What had been a unified government is reduced to local bodies with no communication, coordination or supplies.

"It had never been foreseen that the entire Line of Succession would be killed at once. The political and social order is fractured but there is someone who can stabilize it."

"You're not calling to tell us," Helmsman Gordon Malloy quips in an effort to counter the horrific, "that our Alara is now the new Queen."

"Gordon." Mercer's level tone declares that this effort is neither successful nor appropriate.

"Sorry, sir. Sorry, Alara." His glance left drives home the guilt in the devastation etched upon her face.

"The family does have one survivor," Halsey says from the huge screen. "Eight years ago the 6th in line for the..." he consults a data unit on his desk, "albiatros, the throne."

"Albitras," Alara says, but the correction sounds automatic.

"Yes, albitras, thank you. Zarín Kiernán left, reportedly because he _was_ 6th in line and unlikely to rule. He and his wife settled on Raquiel," he says, pronouncing it Ra-keel, "a world of similar proportions to Xelaya in gravity and atmosphere. Hardly an exact match, slightly smaller in fact, but close enough." Meaning it's less than 9.22 times the size and mass of Earth, manageable with care but none of the crew is going to do handsprings there. Well, except Kitan.

"John?"

"Much better, Captain. At top safe speed we can be there in 18.4 hours, ship's time eleven sixteen. A direct route from there to Xelaya you're looking at 30.6 hours."

Not much different in total time but with much greater benefit. If they can get word to the beleaguered people that the boss is on his way within 30, and even better if he can issue the orders to do what must be done, it will do far more for the people than one additional rescue ship can.

"Set course for Raquiel and gun it."

"Gunning it, Captain," Mallory declares. Five seconds later on the screen around the Admiral's image the stars leap at and past them.

x

Mercer looks to Finn at his right. She already knows his mind. "We can adapt the Pressure chamber, though a day and a quarter won't be fun. We could put him into Quarters, that would be possible, but since Xelaya's atmosphere at sea level is 9.3 times that of Earth, 136.71 pounds per square inch –."

"Wow."

"Your air is too thin," Alara quips.

"An airlock would be a hell of a dicey thing if something goes wrong," Mercer says.

"To put it mildly," Finn says. "In our atmosphere, similar as it is to Xelaya, he would suffocate without a pressure suit. Of course if he travels in his own ship it'd be a simple Honor Guard escort."

"Captain, I strongly recommend that," Alara declares, sounding over the initial shock. "He cannot be prepared for the differences he'll experience here. It took me five _months_ to acclimate to Earth, to breathe your thin air without gasping and wheezing, to jump out of bed at Reveille without cracking my skull on the overhead. Muscle memory takes a long time to relearn and I still get lightheaded when I work out." She never wants to repeat that early transition and would not wish it upon an enemy.

"On the contrary, Captain," Science Officer Isaac says, rotating his chair until his lighted 'eyes' are turned unnecessarily toward his commander, "Orville's individual sections are environmentally adjustable. The gravity plating can be set to up to 500% of Earth normal. While it will not reach the 922% the gentleman would be comfortable with, or even the Raquielian 874, he would experience slightly more than 1/2 of his natural condition."

" _Wait,"_ Alara demands and crosses the bridge to the mechanical officer. " _What_ Did You Say?"

"On the contrary, Captain, the Orville's individual sections are environmentally adjustable." The inflection is identical. "The gravity plating can be set to up to 500% of Earth nor – "

"Like my _Quarters_? Like my _Office_?"

"Yes, Lieutenant. "

Alara looks about the bridge, lost and amazed and a number of darker emotions that leave her crewmates unwilling to say a word. She turns back to Isaac. "Why _Didn't_ _You_ _**Tell**_ _Me_?"

"You have never enquired."

Stunned outrage steals her voice. She looks about again, then settles on Mercer.

"We'll set it up."

" _Thank_ you."

Mercer returns his attention forward, regretting the segue while the channel to Earth is open. He won't hold the distraction against the over-stressed woman but he appreciates the Admiral's forbearance. "So. Go get this guy, bring him back home to stabilize the country. Consider it done, Admiral."

"Not exactly. Zarín Kiernán died ten months ago."

x

Mercer hopes his face hasn't fallen as far as it felt it had. "Sir, I don't understand."

"Lalaíth Kiernán is pregnant."

Good news suddenly sounds very bad. "But he died ten months ago?"

" _Oh_ ohhhh," is John LaMarr's evaluation of their next problem.

"Captain," Alara, still near Isaac's station, says, snatching attention. Her complexion is normally pale compared to human but some of her color has come back. He suspects it's more from outrage than it is adjustment to the terrible situation. "The Xelayan gestation period is 11.2 Terrestrial months."

"Wow."

"It is a much lower number in our terms, 8.14 Xelayan months. Xelaya rotates on its axis in 37.7 Terrestrial hours, our week is different from yours as are our month and our year, that last very nearly twice yours but not as many days, the upshot being that 11.2 of your months is plenty of time to complete the muscular growth needed to allow the infant to live outside the womb."

Mercer turns right to his CMO. "How does the rate of growth compare to humans?"

"Comparable rate, Captain."

"So a Xelayan newborn is..." Malloy can't quite picture it.

"Analogous to a human three month old."

"Owww - _weeeee_." Grayson and Finn second Malloy's assessment.

"Xelayan labor is a formidable experience," Finn concludes.

Kitan only nods as she returns to her station. To her there is nothing unusual.

x

This gives Halsey a moment to regain attention. "Zarín Kiernán is dead but his widow Lalaíth carries the next leader of the Malmorian continent."

"Admiral, how close is she to giving birth."

"Well if you hurry, Dr. Finn _might_ not have to open a Maternity Ward."

A look beside tells him the woman is confident in her team's ability to handle anything they might encounter. Given such vast differences in gravity and air pressure, he prays she's right. "We'll get it done, Admiral."

"Good luck."

The image disappears, replaced by the racing star field.

x

"Alara, how much do you know about the government and conditions in Malmoria?"

"About as much as you do about your Australia." She reins back on her feelings. "Sir."

"Put together a Briefing for one hour. Dismissed."  
Kitan nods and leaves her station, exits through the wide rear of the bridge. Her quarters are port side a few meters down the main corridor.

A glance between Grayson and Mercer confirms matching evaluations: the best thing for the woman now is work - and privacy.


	2. Tumult

Chapter Two  
Tumult

The scheduling of the briefing on the bridge in an hour's time had been to give Security Chief Alara Kitan time to look up the information (forty minutes) and to prepare herself for this mission (the other twenty). Whether she knows anyone on this island continent, which measures shy of ten times the size of Australia yet occupies a similar percentage of Xelaya's northern hemisphere, it cannot be easy for her to hear of the deaths, by quakes and tsunamis, of over 115 million of her people.

That most of the deaths, either immediate or through wounds or other causes, took place over the course of an hour, the mind quails.

Yet at precisely the stroke of the hour the petite woman exits her quarters immediately aft of the bridge port side, strides the few meters through the open doors into the command center at double her normal brisk gait, steps past command on the starboard side of the two senior officers, halts and left faces 128 degrees and assumes a stiff Attention posture. "Sir, I am ready with my report, sir."

"Er, oh, sure," Ed Mercer is brought up short by the strict military formality but perceives Alara uses it as a shield. "Proceed, Lieutenant." He returns an unpresented salute with distinct casual manner.

"Thank you, sir," she says crisply, her tone the salute. "Sir, the Continent of Malmoria was settled 492 years ago; Xelayan years, not Terrestrial; originally as a colony of the Nation of Saquine."

"But the last reported ground tremor on that continent was 600 years ago?"

"Yes, sir. Science stations in Caprisca monitored and ignored the quake."

"So these people never suspected an Earth – a Xelayaquake of this magnitude could ever hit them."

"Of any magnitude, yes sir. After the initial settlement the population continued to grow until, according to the latest census data presented to the Union, it was 453,123,407 - with the greatest population in the center and radiating from that point."

x

The epicenter, Halsey had noted.

Mercer has seen that the bridge crew, after the initial curious glances, is picking up the tension emanating from the petite woman. 115 out of 453, over 1/4 of that nation's people dead, 107 million injured and uncounted numbers missing is beyond any of their abilities to take in and deal with.

"The principle export is –"

"At ease, Lieutenant." The timed interruption is intended to distract and he sees beyond her blink that it succeeded.

"Sir?"

"At ease," he repeats with particular casualness, making a point to settle himself more comfortably in his chair. "This is a long report, you'll strain your back." He further hopes she gets that he doesn't need population figures or import / export data, not with so many people dead.

"Yes, sir." She shifts her left boot sideways twenty one centimeters, crosses hands low behind her back in what he's sure is the precise Union specified angle, the most 'At Attention' At Ease that he's seen since Academy graduation. In fact, he doesn't believe very many people 'Snap To and Present' after their sixth month in the Service.

"Sir, Malmoria's political structure is a Dynastic Monarchy where the Kiernán family has held power for 483 years. There is also a minority that favors more of a democratic republic but in the 9 decades of its existence has never grown large enough to have a significant effect upon the government or its people.

"Malmoria in its turn constitutes one/ninth of the Lanzrad," this has gone far enough, "a planetary governing body consisting o–"

"Alara." This one is firm enough to derail her.

"Sir?"

x

He rights himself in his chair and faces her with blend of authority and kindness. Grayson's support becomes one of solicitousness and comradery. "We appreciate what you're going through. All of us do. Even if you didn't know anyone personally–"

" _That's not assured_!" She catches herself. "I'm sorry, sir," she says at half volume, looking at anything but her commander.

"It's okay. Alara, just relax, as well as you can, and tell us what you know."

"Yes." She manages to break 'Ease', to adopt a more normal posture and tone. It's not complete, she's still shielding, but he hopes she can work into it.

x

"I'm sorry, where was I?"

Where indeed? What's the most non-emotional subject? Oddly enough "The country's political structure."

If they are going to transport the equivalent of the Queen Mother, this is important.

"Yes, sir. The Kiernán Dynasty has ruled for 483 years and the country is stable, at least as stable as a two party system, one of which an extreme underdog, can get. The rulership consists of a King - a Tiran in Xelayan - and a Queen, called a Misvar, though it can be either/or or both, together with the Royal Family with an established Order of Succession. I don't know much, my country is very different."

"Royalty," Gordon quips to John in a tone that pulls Isaac's attention. The Kaylon rotates his starboard set seat to address the pair.

"I fail to discern the context expressed in your tone. What is 'Royalty'?" he asks in an excellent reproduction.

Gordon would have thought the information would be programmed into his basic databanks. "Royalty, a King and a Queen and maybe a Princess –."

"But the Queen is under the King," John points out.

"That's how you get a Princess."

"All right, that's enough. Alara, please continue."

x

But Alara is not put out by the interruption; it gave her some moments to compose her thoughts and her emotions, something she suspects Gordon had had in mind. "The minority DieTarpu party, what you would call a democratic republic party similar to Tankin's system, advocates… advocates a system of 'self government' … but it has never been strong enough to–" She fights to control her expression. Apparently the distraction was not long enough. "Sir, I accessed the Information Services, such as there still are.

"The capital city, centralized and convenieal to - to everyone - is leveled. Aid is coming in from other lands - other planes - planets but – the extent….

"I saw pictures, hardly a tenth of the city is more than rabble and what still stands is unentrable … unhabititatable … unicubileil…."

"We get it." With Basic, heavily influenced by English, the common language of the Planetary Union, Autotrans are rarely used due to the disorienting effect of hearing natural words and their translations but because of what's happened to the woman she's forgetting some words. When she got off Politics and on to People it got 'real'. He considers allowing her to continue in Xelayan but she seems to need the effort as much as the pride in doing her job.

x

"Theeee, um, tension between the partites - parties is kept low because there _are_ so few, but I heard cincens - concerns are growing with the deaths of the Kiernáns. Nearly five centuries of stablylite is now pulled out from under these people; there's no one to make the overall decisions and between the disaster plus the void in ledership…. Communications are fracted - fracteed - _fractured_ at best, whole sections isolated, organiston efforts made by other countries or planets some regard … some regard as exside outtrusion.

"Communion – _communications_ were the first to go. Whole regons - regions, whole _regions_ don't even know what happened or how bad it is."

Her emotional barriers crack but she forces herself to shore up those walls, to keep her expression from crumpling. "I saw images of - of Ovantiu, northeast coast… a… a tsunami…" the cracks widen, the shoring is less effective. She breathes harder, fights the tears, the horror she's seen. "It hit … sir, it hit … Ovantiu… and…" she clenches her fists, breath shattered, can't blink back the tears but won't move to wipe them, won't admit on the bridge that they're there. "Sir, twent… twent … twenty…" the tears drop, she can't stop them, can't stop the broken breath. "Twen - ty - fo - four tho - sand pee – ple … are … _Gone."_

x

She can say nothing more. Trembling with unadmitted tears streaming down her cheeks, she fights to recover her breath and fights showing that she's doing so.

"Alara," Mercer says softly in what he hopes is his kindest voice but the truth is he's moved too. Everyone in his sight is focused on their duties. "You're relieved until we approach Raquiel."

Mini glance at him and she crashes to attention, ramrod straight, stare boring into a light on Lt. Marsden's panel on the other side of Bortus'. " _Captain, request permission to resume my duties Sir._ "

She's fighting the broken, rapid breath by holding it, the trembling by her rigid stance. Mercer carefully considers; which is least bad for the woman? She is a professional but will be called upon to do much; and to escape from the bridge, possibly to seek out Dr. Finn's psychological aid, probably humiliated by her in-public break and to leave the bridge at that…. But she's already made her decision with her ramrod position and the request that had virtually cannoned out of her mouth. Further, he's heartened by her determination not to retreat, not to spend the trip in her quarters or wherever. "Resume your Station, Lieutenant."

"Sir, thank you sir." Her salute is a laser straight line from elbow to fingertip touching the fine hairs at the edge of her right eyebrow. She drops the salute with forearm stiffer than Isaac's, quarter right faces and crosses the deck to her chair, sits down as though in need of oil.


	3. The Gravity of the Situation

Chapter Three  
The Gravity of the Situation

Hours later, hours spent in relative silence while feeling every minute of the long journey even beyond end of shift, Captain Mercer meets Alara in the corridor outside her quarters. Unable to rest, he had stayed on the bridge well into Beta shift until finally he turned the Con over to Bortus whom he had sent to rest earlier, supposing the Moclan could benefit from time with his mate Klyden and their son Topa.

He had planned to stop at her quarters but as he exits the wide portal he sees the Security Chief approaching from the spiral stairs and presumes she had spent the hours in her office doing more research upon their situation.

He doubts she has sought convivial fellowship in the lounge, she's still in uniform so long after going off duty and he need only look in her eyes from meters away to know how she is. She had avoided, while on the bridge, looking at any of the News Feeds sent to individual stations instead of to the main screen, had avoided the devastation or the numbers of the dead or injured. She'd been focused on the island's Society, its Government, the peaceful aspects but she's come off being alone and doesn't have the shield of being among her fellow officers.

Maybe what he has accomplished will be a microscopic help.

x

"Oh, Alara, I want you to know we've, rather Isaac and Steve have, programmed the gravity plating in your quarters and office. I know you haven't forgotten."

She smiles; she'd been about to dissemble but there's no point. She'd really wanted this resolved and is very happy, after hours of horrible emotion, that it's been done so soon. "Thank you, Captain."

"They're on computer voice control, from zero to five hundred percent, but operate over a fifteen second span."

"So I won't forget and smack my face."

"That's never fun."

"No it isn't. Thank you. I'll thank Steve and Isaac when I see them."

"And tell Isaac you forgive him?"

That had never been an issue. When she'd regained some balance after the mass of shocks she'd admitted she never had raised the issue, had never considered it and Isaac, with the machine literalness of his race, does not volunteer anything not duty related. "Yes."

"Well, I'm going to turn in."

"To what?"

"Cute." Last week's boredom diverter had included a 400+ year old video record of 'Bewitched', where turning into something could be taken with Issacian literalness. "Good night."

"Good night, Captain."

x

Within her outer room, a computer console before her, a white round table and two chairs (one more than she needs) to her right and blue couch to her left turned to a large viewscreen on the left wall, Alara takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, saying goodbye to Earth. She plants her feet shoulder length apart, for though she always maintains good posture anything less is not a good idea. On her last examination by Claire Finn she'd registered a very childish 118 pounds. She never pays attention to such figures for though Claire finds them useful they always make her feel like a toddler. Her proper weight is a healthy 1,058 and this system, rated at 500% of Earth normal, will bring her up to an anorexic 590, not what she's used to but indescribably better than what she lives with. She extends her right arm, it will be her test.

"Computer. Increase gravitational plating to 500%."

*Confirmed.*

x

Steadily, inexorably the floor pulls at her with greater force, the pressure on her feet grows, every part of her body responding to the increase. Her right arm, extended before her, grows steadily heavier until she must actually expend a tiny bit of effort to hold it up. It's like stepping out of the buoyancy of a pool onto the deck, every muscle, organ, sinew pulled down harder and harder until *Gravity set to 500% Earth normal.*

"Computer, what is my weight?"

*One hundred eighteen pounds according to ship's record.*

"Smart ass."

x

But she doesn't need the machine to speak her weight, she can do this in the feel of her body and, reaching for the overhead, she stretches with an explosive groan up upon her toes, reaches for the outer hull, every inch of her body feeling alive and unrestricted after so long. So very long.

She considers bringing the air pressure up to Xelayan sea level but decides against it. A human would require some thirty minutes to go from 14.7 pounds per square inch to 136.71 whereas a Xelayan, with proper breathing techniques, can accomplish it in as few as three. She does not enjoy it. It is a strain and, if done any faster, she risks compression or decompression sickness, what Earth people call by the fanciful title of the 'bends', which she doesn't want to experience ever again.

She had on only one occasion, the day at the Academy when confidence had overwhelmed sense. It was when she had focused on a Security career, considered the need for quick movement from quarters to duty station, and decided to prove herself. She'd been sure she could set a record at the Academy, had urged her fellows to take her down in two minutes and had spent all of the rest of the day screaming in the Infirmary.

Never again.

x

As a Xelayan among humans she has to hold herself back from so much. She wonders if her friends ever wonder, ever imagine, the restrictions she lives with just to live and work beside these people. In the gym, which she uses on an off-shift's fourth hour where she can have the best chance for privacy, if she is still not alone she has to limit herself.

She used to use the hologym program, but to take too many shifts there is a discourtesy, so she limits herself to practice in real life and endures the restrictions. Weight training exercises are worse than useless unless she begins at 600 pounds but that's only good for a warm-up. Decent weight training begins at 900 but she can't do that with others there; crew mates too quickly turn into rapt audiences.

Jumping jacks or ropes she has to be so careful of and if she tried a decent real jump she'd wind up in Sick Bay, possibly with a fractured skull.

And lovemaking? No _more. FORGET_ IT. Lovemaking is letting go. Back when she'd been dating Josh she'd hugged him once in a thoughtless, happy moment and had been horrified to hear ' _Crunch_ '. He'd been fine, she'd given him 'a little chiropractic work' but she'd been a wreck until Claire, after a panicked call, had assured her of what he'd insisted upon.

Perhaps it is that which caused the dissolution of her last two relationships. It is one thing to hold back on sex, quite another to see it more as a danger than a release.

But no more. She may not take some esoteric Vow of Chastity, she'd told Isaac in a moment of self-defense that she'd taken to working on herself without considering an explanation as to why, but with the humans on this ship she would rather be celibate than a murderess.

Enough of that for later. She feels too good to think about feeling bad.

x

Unzipping her red uniform jacket, she pulls it off and luxuriates in the play of muscles as she moves. The jacket is a much improved twenty plus pounds in her hand before she drops it onto the back of the couch. She thinks of the bed in the next room. After her first night on Earth, after a very unpleasant time when she'd thought she would fly off the mattress every time she rolled over, she'd requisitioned a Zero-Gee hammock for her quarters and until she'd weaned herself off it she'd slept secure in the firm netting.

"Xinxis, am I going to _sleep_ tonight."

x

She turns, facing the door and, with another groan of satisfaction she stretches high, then brings her arms very slowly out to her sides, reveling in the sensation. She must hold them up instead of have them float in dry, invisible water and as she holds them out to her sides she sighs with the greatest contentment.

Tomorrow it may be possible that she will go down to the planet, a delegation of one, and experience full gravity, full weight for the first time in two and a half Xelayan, nearly four Earth, years but this is private, this is her moment.

Bending, even this feeling good to have to balance her body, she pulls the zippers of her boots down, straightens, lifts her right foot across to her waiting hands as she's done ten thousand times and with a high cry slams down onto her butt.

"Ohhhhh-kay," she groans as she rubs the abused body part, "note to self: You're not an anorexic toddler anymore."

Removing boots, pants and undershirt from the safety of the carpet until she can stop reveling in and start adjusting to the sensations, she rolls the bundle up and throws it toward the away facing couch to her right, but it hits the back at top and bounces back to the floor. "Note to self #2: Basketball practice."

Sitting on the carpet, clad now only in panties, she looks down at herself and reflects that at 23 with a by-human-standards extra firm Xelayan body a bra has been superfluous; but if she intends to return to Xelaya some day…. No, for the foreseeable future that garment is still utterly - udderly, she thinks with a giggle - unnecessary.

Laying flat, she wants the full sensation of the carpet pressed hard under her and grasps the elastic at her hips, pushes with feet and shoulders upward for the space she needs to inch the garment down, then sits up, pulls it from her legs, sits cross legged, rolls these up and takes more careful aim. This time the basketball shot over the back is better, even though she _is_ trying to hit the broad side of a couch.

x

Laying flat again, feet toward the door and head to her computer station, arms and legs spread to her limits, she brings her legs together and very slowly raises her right arm, eighth inch by eighth inch, focuses on the glorious effort until it's perpendicular. Holding it upright, she raises her extended left arm as slowly until, after the span of two minutes, both arms are raised high. She lowers both as slowly out to her sides, enjoying the increasing pull until three minutes later they're flat upon the carpet.

Then, arms spread wide for balance, she brings her left leg up slowly, very slowly, luxuriates beyond expression in the effort and play of her too long underused muscles. She brings and holds her leg up high and steady and then brings up her right leg up for over two minutes to join it.

As slowly she lets her legs drift apart, controls their motion as they spread out to her sides. Ten degrees, twenty, forty, the pull of muscles feels so good and she revels in every sensation. Fifty. It's starting to strain as weight pulls down upon her legs. Sixty. Eighty. _BEEP._

"Commmme" she sighs an instant before she can bite back the automatic response. She picks her head up to look down between her high breasts, past the V of her legs, the door slides open and

"Alara – " He's not in uniform as he steps forward.

"GORDON _**WAIT**_!"

He sees her on the floor at the same instant he crosses the threshold. "I _**ACK**_!" He staggers in and crashes upon the carpet, his head a quarter inch from slamming down upon her. His whipped out hair tickles her.

"COMPUTER RESET GRAVITY PLATING TO EARTH NORMAL!"

She has her feet planted on either side of his shoulders, knees up; he's looking upward at her from two inches away and the fifteen seconds of reducing gravity have never felt so long.

"Gordon I'm so _Sorry_! I forgot the _gravity_!"

He can't bring himself to look up any higher, not to her face, not even to her stomach, but stares at...

In deepest sincerity he promises her that "I'll never forget."

x

She fights to concentrate on not being embarrassed. This was an accident, a pure accident. "Gordon, what are–?" It's hard to keep her voice steady, but if she can pretend, pretend there's nothing unusual…"What are you doing here?"

"I came to…" his eyes still don't move up but his breath, his breath plays warm along her…. "Apologize. Yes. That's it. I came to apologize, for what I said. I didn't me – I didn't mean to hurt you."

He's breathing on her. His breath, his hot breath along her - it's hotter than a moment ago. She knows, is _sure,_ that he can't know Xelayans, but she's heard human women have hair follicles collected at their vaginas. Had heard it somewhere.

"You didn't hurt my feelings Gordon." This has been a day for too high feelings, too high, wild emotion and …. "Gordon?"

"Wwwwwwwhat?"

Ohhhh, that _Breath._ "Gordon?"

"Whhhhhhhat?"

"Would you please…?"

He picks his gaze higher but now it's locked on her breasts and her nipples tingle with the touch.

"Would … you… _PLEASE_ … get your _face_ … out of my _Crotch_?"

He pushes up but his face comes closer as he comes forward on his hands, her legs now blocked open by his shoulders and then torso and he doesn't stop advancing until his lips press to hers.

The Planetary Union must have a dozen Regulations to cover his behavior… his behavior with a … with a fellow officer, but as he presses his lips to hers she can't … remember… any… of… them.

His lips press more firmly to hers and if she doesn't want it to hurt - it really is quite nice - she must back off.

She starts to lay back but his lips follow her, follow her all the way down until her head's on the carpet. She's laying on the carpet and still he presses to her.

x

He's not in uniform, in civilian clothes but there's no one on Orville as out of uniform as she is and his body has followed hers down to the floor. Her knees are still raised and spread more widely now and he nestles between them, especially a really, really firm part pressed to h….

He supports himself above her, not crushing her chest - not that he could - but her breasts move against his shirt with every quickening breath as he keeps kissing her, as she... kisses...

She's never seen him like this, never imagined him like – but maybe he…. As she breathes harder against his kiss her nipples pet his shirt, reach for his chest, slip tingling along his shirt.

He balances upon his left hand, his right comes to her left breast. She's never realized how the skillful touches upon that Helm translate to truly Talented hands as he

As he

 _As_ _he_

Yes, the Planetary Union must have a _hundred_ Regulations - and they can All Burn.


	4. Relevant Information

Chapter Four  
Relevant Information

At 0930 Mercer asks "Alara, did you get anything last night?" She did not turn at the sound of her name. "Alara? Any relevant information?"

Her attention is still neither on her station nor on her Captain. Bortus, seated to her left, tries "Lieutenant?" and his deep voice breaks through.

"Hu – yes?"

"Relevant information?"

She follows the Moclan's gaze and finds the Captain and First Officer staring at her. "I'm sorry, sir, ma'am, I was–"

His upraised hand silences her. "No one can lose so many people without being affected, Lieutenant, but I need your attention here on your duties. We're an hour and a half from Raquiel," he says, pronouncing it 'Ra-keel', "and do you have anything since you went off duty, either on Xelaya or Raquiel, that will help us?"

He leaves unsaid his hope that she had not luxuriated so much in half her natural environment that she had gone to bed early.

"Yes, sir. And first sir," she stands to address her superiors. "I want to thank you for the adjustment to my quarters and to apologize for the tears. I know crying on the bridge is inappropriate and I–"

"Lieutenant, the loss of over a hundred million of your people justifies tears, and 'you're welcome' about your quarters though I hope they won't incline you to sleep in."

"No, sir." She actually got considerably less sleep than she'd anticipated but won't go into that. The one responsible looks both energized and enervated and she wonders how he's managed it. She's not quite sure yet what she feels.

"Then what do you have on your planet?"

"Yes, sir." She's very relieved that, when Gordon had left and she was alone (her quarters are immediately port aft of the bridge and there was no way they were going to be seen exiting together) she had been too - hyped is the word he used? - to go back to the bed after changing and drying it and so she'd sat down at her desk to work.

She recalls having to have sat down very gingerly and this morning is not at all different.

x

"Malmoria operates under a two Party government system similar to some human governments. The Kiernán Dynasty, which has held power since the settlement of the island continent 491 of our years ago. Almost eight of your centuries. As a colony of Saquine. From which it gained political and economic independence in an amicable arrangement some eight years after formation. A decade and a third for you."

"How'd they manage that?" Mercer asks, ignoring the sentence fragments. How shaken is she still?

Isaac puts in that "Historically the independence of a colony from the motherland is a contentious arrangement."

"Five hundred years ago, give or take a decade. Because it was a long process. Xelaya kind of mostly united from a collection of eight sovereign nations into a quasi-unified body. Sort of."

Only a native can pile on such a collection of qualifiers.

"The contentiousness."

"Yes, sir. No nation was willing to give up National Sovereignty. But they did agree to form the Lanzrad, where on any issue that affected Xelaya as a whole. Or else two or more of its nations; each nation had one vote. The decision of the Lanzrad was binding."

"Eight representatives," Kelly Grayson observes. "I take it things didn't always work."

"For the most part it did. Some issues are mostly solvable with the other continents as neutral arbitrators but there were several spectacular ties.

"Eight years - Xelayan years, no one knew about Earth - into the Lanzrad Saquine had settled what came to be known as Malmoria. A huge island over 8,500 kilometers at it's widest. It was land that was pretty much isolated, north of the convenient shipping patterns of the time. And unexploited. Xelaya is so big that people want for nothing. Saquine said 'Let us' and the Lanzrad said 'Go for it'.

"The first settlers included a powerful family, powerful in Saquine, called the Kiernáns, who all went across–"

"and who decided," Mercer concludes the obvious, if only to bring one coherent sentence intot the conversation, "why run a city when you can rule a Continent?"

"Yes, sir. They established themselves into the ruling family. That evolved into a monarchy. Over generations and centuries, evolved a dynasty. It was a benevolent dynasty, for the most part. It didn't need an iron fist, it just _was_."

x

"And the Independence?"

"Well, sir, as I said that was amicable. A few years after Malmoria was settled people grew tired of the Lanzrad's occasionally inconvenient ties and the answer seemed obvious: establish Malmoria as an independent Monarchy, one of three back then, give it a seat on the Lanzrad and decisions are split 9 ways."

"Alara," Kelly breaks in.

"Yes?"

Okay, she has the woman's attention, now how to get her to take a moment, organize her thoughts and speak in complete sentences without embarrassing the hell out of her? "Never mind."

"So how do you… did they," Malloy edits, "wind up with a two Party system?"

"Not as easily. But there are 458 million – _were_ 458 million –."

"One thing at a time, Lieutenant," Mercer advises.

"Yes, sir. Well, not everyone likes being ruled, especially when over the centuries, with the example of the Lanzrad itself, Malmoria went from being one of three Monarchies to the sole one and some felt it had had its day and too long of one."

Kelly can't say it, but maybe the momentary distraction had been enough? She hopes so.

"A century ago the DieTarpu, meaning Freedom, movement was founded. The movement was small, is still small, maybe up to 9% of the population so it was ignored. It advocated a Democratic system of government overseen by elected officials in a republic format. They thought they were creating the first fusing, a Democratic Republic. Back then no one had heard of Earth.

"But as I said, it was small, never comprising more than 9% of the population. It was considered an amalgamation of airheads and crackpots."

Isaac turns to point out that "Nine percent of Malmoria's population on their last census is 41,204,106."

"True, but remember that the Kiernán Dynasty is utterly entrenched. It has held power for five centuries."

"No one remembers a time," John LaMarr concludes from the Helm / Navigation console forward, "when the Kiernáns weren't the bosses."

"Until they all died," Gordon, beside him on the starboard side, brings the conversation to full round.

x

"And now," LaMarr says, "we're going out to bring back the last survivors and reestablish the Dynasty."

"And I'm guessing," Gordon says, "that there are DieTarpuians–"

"DieTarpuns."

"DieTarpuns who are going to be less than thrilled to hear that."

"We're not taking any sides in their politics," Mercer declares firmly. "Our orders are to bring in someone who supposedly can bring order out of chaos."

"And then? Sir?"

"There is no 'and then'. Orville brings this person in and it's up to the Malmorians to decide their future."

"And we all know how well that works out."

But Alara declares that "Lalaíth Kiernán will never be Mísvar."

x

"How's that?" Mercer asks.

"Sir, she married into the Line, she was not born into it. Family lines are vital on Xelaya. Since he is dead, his widow can be Vlarea, Regent for the new King, but she will have no intrinsic power."

"What?" Kelly breaks. "Women can't be Queen?"

"No, Commander, you misunderstand. If they were King and Queen that is one thing but they were not. If Lalaíth Kiernán births a daughter she _will_ be Queen, and as mother of the Mísvár and widow of the heir to the throne, the albitras, Lalaíth would be Regent, Vlarea."

"So her family line means nothing?"

"It means a tremendous amount, but these people are picking a Ruler."

x

"All right," Mercer says, hand up to signal the end of the debate. "Call in your reliefs and I want everyone to take a break. We reach Raquiel in…."

"ETA 11:16," LaMarr reminds them. "One hour, twenty eight minutes."

"Forty five minutes, then final briefing. I want everyone on their games."

xx

Kelly and Alara leave the bridge together, Alara presuming the First Officer - who came out beside her - wants to evaluate for herself the condition of her officer. Not a bad choice for since last evening she has absolutely no idea what her condition is. They walk down the corridor and board the elevator. Alara decides that the recent addition of soothing music was an excellent idea and tries to relax into it until

"Soo, you and Gordon Malloy."

She's blasted back. "Huh? _How..._?"

"You know that little thing where you're hooked and think no one knows and you look over your shoulder at the guy when you think no one's looking and you smile?"

"No."

"Yes you do. Until the Captain called you you did it 6 times this morning."

"Did _not._ " Look aside, long sigh, shoulders drop. Suddenly the music no longer helps. "Did."

"I started counting when it became really noticeable. It had to be more like in the high teens, not bad for the first quarter shift."

"Kelly, can I talk to you? Seriously talk?"

"Sure." The elevator stops and she rushes out, turns right and hurries along the corridor. Her normal pace is quite a brisk gait but Kelly feels she has to jog to keep up with the double time charge. "Alara, slow down."

The smaller woman makes a razor sharp left, punches 3342 on the control pad and is through the portal before it's half open. When Kelly passes through the fully open door she realizes this is C-6, the temporary quarters of the duplicitous Pria Levesque, 29th Century profiteer and saboteur. She stands at the end of the couch while Alara paces forth and back before it.

x

"I don't know what to do," she exclaims and whirls back to start a third circuit. She's moving so fast Kelly can feel the breeze after each turn away. "My body my brain my mind my soul I can't explain it. I didn't plan this. He didn't plan this. He fell into it. Literally. It's not like Josh, not a bit, not a tiny bit. Josh didn't know me, didn't know what he was getting into and couldn't handle it."

"And so unlike Andy of the grinding dance?"

Alara had done a complete circuit in that short inquiry. "I am completely over him," she declares as she whirls away again.

"I don't think John ever will be."

"Probably not," she admits and starts her next short circuit away. "But Gordon knows me. He has the whole picture. He _Knows_ what he's getting into," she says, starting away again.

Kelly resists checking the carpet for wear; it's too soon but if the woman keeps this up... "I dare say he has a pretty well developed picture, and knows _exactly_ what he got into."

That slams Alara to a stop a pace toward her. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You two had sex, didn't you?"

" _ **OF**_ -" She bites the yell in half, forces herself to calm and level. "Yes, we had sex."

"How was it?"

"How was it?" She has to wonder. At least she's no longer threatening the carpet. "How was it? I've had sex before. I'm not a virgin."

"I would hope not. At a healthy twenty three–"

"I've had sex. Josh and I, we had intercourse. Kind of. Andy never made it that far but not for lack of trying to stain my uniform. Gordon and I... weeeeee..."

"Made love?"

x

She nods, finally admitting it to herself. "We made love. I didn't want to do it. He... I did _not_ want to do it. I was… on the floor, naked, he got on top of me, got me down on my back. I didn't _want_ to do it, I didn't, but he was on top of me, between my legs and he–"

"Alara, if you're going to say he _forced_ himself on you I am really going to have a hard time believing you."

"No, it wasn't like that. He was, well, he was, he, well, he fell into my vagina, that is between my legs, he was staring at my vagina, breathing on it which did feel really good and then … it just … sort of … happened."

x

Kelly is still for a long time. "Alara, I'm actually having a better picture of his forcing you and surviving."

"I was on the floor, naked, my legs up and open wide, he walked in from the corridor, fell into the gravity field, his face was in my vagina, not in, just…. I asked him... he was staring at my vagina, I asked him to _Please_ get his face out of my crotch, he kissed me and … it … just … happened."

Kelly, feeling somewhat stunned, finally has to admit "Makes perfect sense."

xx

A detailed and much more calm-enforced explanation, point by point from the time of her talk with the Captain, provides a much clearer picture. The selection of non-fermented drinks and non-anything else lunch from the synthesizer allows them to sit upon the couch and address the issue in a calmer and more rational manner.

It feels to Kelly so much, and yet it is so unlike, their conversation in her quarters over Darulio. That had been a drug induced - okay, pheromone induced – love / obsession, but if there are any drugs involved in this one she truly wants some.

"Okay, the first and most important question: Do you love him?"

Long stare. Searching stare. Contemplative stare. "I don't know."

"Okay, that's about right for this point."

"I can see us with our grandchildren, though."

"Okay, I've going to put that one into the 'Yes' column."

"That's something Xelayans say. On Xelaya a union isn't considered truly successful unless it produces grandchildren."

"That whole family line thing."

"To Xelayans that's _important_. It's important to _me_."

And to that there can be no answer.

x

"You said I was glancing at him all sheep-eyed."

"Well, not in so many words, but yes."

"But there are moments, were moments, sitting at my station, where I wanted to run screaming out through an airlock."

"Okay, that goes into the 'Yes' column too."

"Huh?"

"Alara, you have to come to realize that when it comes to love, true love; not puppy love or clitoral love or any other kind, is that true love makes Absolutely No Sense At All. In fact, if you could make sense of it it wouldn't be true love."

x

"Kelly, how do I love a human?"

"What?" She's not really versed in biological differences between Humans and Xelayans, now she realizes maybe she should be. "Are you asking about How, as in the biological issues we really ought to be bringing Claire in on or the 'how' romantically or the how–?"

"Well, I've been …." Is that a blush? With her complexion it's hard to tell.

"With Xelayans?"

"And Josh, that didn't have time to sort itself into love, not Love love. That was, well, that was 'clitoral love'. And screw Andy, I didn't. I never saw Josh or Andy with our grandchildren. I was Josh's girlfriend, he was my boyfriend but I don't know where Love would have found its way into that or even could. Now suddenly, in the span of time it takes to fall down... in 5G..."

x

"Do you love him?"

She searches for a true answer, must finally admit "I don't have the foggiest idea. I like him a whole lot... but do I Love him?"

"Remember what I said, if you can analyze it –."

"It's not." She throws that away. "Maybe…."

"Maybe?"

"Could I love him?"

"That's up to each of you."

"Even if I really, really want it to be so?"

"How do you feel, loving a human? Not a Xelayan, an Earth man?"

"I... don't know. We're compatible, I've really liked him since I got to know him. We're compatible, I could have his baby. Humans and Xelayans, I checked with Claire when Josh and I were doing it but am I–?"

"Over-analyzing again?"

"And if I love him and the day comes, or is already here, when he doesn't–? He said he does but does he? Or am I just a tasty fruit, a forbidden treat, an Alien fantasy, an evening's wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am–"

" _Dangerous_ territory. Stop that one now, it's killed trillions of loves."

"I want him. Kelly, how do I keep him? If it's 'True Love', how do I keep _him_?"

"Oh, you are asking the _wrong_ woman, you know that."

"I don't mean Keep keep, I mean..."

For too long nothing.

x

"What are you feeling?"

"I'm Scared. And I want to giggle like a little girl. I feel like I've eaten a bomb and it sits here," she touches before her diaphragm, "and it goes off every time I look at him, every time I think of him."

"And how does that bomb feel when it goes off?"

"Sometimes ecstasy, like the happiest I've ever been, or the last hundred happies all scrunched into one and set off. Or like an orgasm. And then other times it kills me. It leaves me laying on the ground, body parts scattered everywhere, my internal organs all blown out of the hole in my gut, blood and vitriol every–."

"I _get_ the picture."

"- where. But he didn't expect this, he certainly hadn't come into my quarters planning to lay between my legs and suddenly we're feeling it and we're saying it and it's the truth. I certainly wasn't looking for it and it comes at the worst time. This mission, it's going to consume all my time, and she's the first Xelayan I've seen since the Academy and I haven't been with one in a Xelayan environment in longer, four Terran years, but what about Gordon?"

x

"Now that I _can_ help you with. What did the Union Officer Training Program teach you about when your have personal and duty issues at the same time?"

"Separate. Separate and compartmentalize."

"Focus on your duty of the moment. Let the other percolate in the background until you can focus on that and give it your full attention. The other will keep going, grow and percolate until you're ready for it."

"Okay."

"Think you can do that?"

"I'll try."

"Good." They take the remnants of their lunches back to the synthesizer for reclamation, but as they start out of the room: "Oh, and one more thing you _can_ do; Commander to Security Chief."

She straightens, squares her shoulders. "Yes, Ma'am?"

"When you two are up there on the bridge..."

"Yes, Commander?"

"Keep his face out of your vagina."

The laughter does feel very good.

xxx

On the viewscreen, surrounded by the rushing stars, are Ultrawave videos from Xelaya and the story they tell is devastating.

It follows three grand – rather not grand, horrific – themes. The images from Malmoria are devastating visions of destruction, buildings destroyed, towns and cities piled high with debris that has once been homes and commercial buildings, but when the images switched to bodies being pulled from the rubble Mercer had ordered the feed changed. None of them need these images to convince them to do what they can to help.

The second aspect is Planetary Union feeds detailing, without much emotion, the extent of aid being coordinated from within the area and the gatherings of food, water and other essentials from all over the region as well as arrival forecasts for supplies coming in from Union worlds.

The third is news and commentary from other sections of the planet. Xelaya is tremendous, on planetary scale 9.22 times the mass of Earth, Malmoria correspondingly huge but if one pictures a differently shaped Australia on the northern hemisphere one can get an impression of the scale. Elsewhere on the gigantic planet life goes on. Videos show clear skies, normal scenes of shopping, working and general daily life intercut with interviews of Xelayans expressing their regrets for the distant loss. For some, Malmoria is further away from their lives than is Xelaya from its astronomical neighbors.

But not all those who are interviewed are distant or unaffected. The news shifts to depictions of devastated families and friends, interviews with people who have lost loved ones in a matter of minutes, extended families decimated by death. The tears and wails of grief are too much to endure and Mercer orders the feed cut.

x

The bridge is silent, even the electronic systems surrounding the bridge seem muted and no words are spoken beyond the necessities of duty during the last minutes in which Orville punches a long hole in the ether until "Approaching Raquielian system," Navigator John LaMarr announces.

"Disengage Quantum drive," Mercer says and thinks 'right, like I need to tell him that. Those two could put us in orbit while I nap in my bunk.'

"Please note," LaMarr continues, "'Ra-keel' has a gravity 8.78 times that of Earth so we have to maintain a healthy distance."

"That's NAVSPEAK," Malloy interprets, "for we don't want to go _splat._ It'd really mess up his Rating."

"Ruin our days too," Kelly quips.

"Alara, do you have their Space Command or whatever?"

"Planetary Central Communications, yes sir. They've already answered our hail."

'So nice to have an efficient bridge crew,' he thinks as he and Kelly Grayson right themselves in their chairs. "On screen."

The images change from a smoothly enlarging blue green white sphere which presently takes up a fifth of the view of the distant world to a man of near human appearance if one ignores the somewhat larger than common ears and the thicker brow line. He has heard of people being described as 'unibrow', where the eyebrows extend to meet above the nose, yet he had never considered the natural extension of such a thing.

As Xelayans had evolved with ears whose straight canals cupped and directed sound more efficiently inward through a much denser medium than Earth's (and left them with cute points he'll observe to no one) the Raquielian ears are large with more intricate canals. And whereas the quadruple arched ridges above the Xelayan orbital bones are the vestigial remnant of much larger bones that protected the eyes from glaring sunlight untold millions of years ago, and the ridges upon the nose had been much more prominent protections of the nasal passage, the large ridge over this man's eyes probably served a similar benefit to his forefather's forefather's forefathers an umpteen million years ago.

If Alara has any other differences, say from Kelly under her uniform, then even beyond Union Regulations he's never felt the urge to enquire - not when she can put him into the Sick Bay with a slap.

x

"Good day." He has no idea of the local time and doesn't know how ship's time of 11:20 compares with theirs; he knows the lengths of planetary and ship's days are very different, with the planet's being significantly longer. "I'm Captain Edward Mercer commanding the Planetary Union Starship Orville. We've come seeking Mrs. Lalaíth Kiernán."

"Yes, we have been informed of your mission. I am Minister of Foreign Affairs Altepo Mustaplan and I have Lalaíth Kiernán here now."

"You have? Great! That'll save a ton of time."

Before the desk and therefore seen first in profile steps a _very_ pregnant woman. Without references he cannot guess her height, can see that her long hair is black and that her less pale than Alara's face shows the same distinctive quadruple brow ridges and the straight canaled and pointed ears. She's too far away to discern eye color.

Mercer doesn't know Xelayan ranks well but stands in deference to the quasi-royal status held by her with her people and he's gratified to see Kelly also rise, though she remains a step behind as befits, he hopes, a First Officer in this meeting of rulers. The woman is the last royalty of her planet, at least until her baby comes to term.

"Ma'am," he presents himself again, "I am pleased to meet you though we deplore the circumstances. Please allow me, on behalf of the Planetary Union, to extend our deepest sympathies to you and your people in this tragic time."

"Thank you, Captain. You've come a long way."

"Not so long," he says with what he hopes reads as gallantry. The return trip at Orville's top speed will last a day and a quarter. "Ma'am, may I have the honor of presenting one of your fellows, our Chief of Security, Lt. Alara Kitan?"

x

At his gesture Alara steps before the Command station and into the camera feed.

"Lieutenant Kitan."

"Vlarea," she says with a slight bow of head. Mercer recalls she's addressed the woman with a Regent's title but the woman says

"Thank you, but no. I will not use that."

"As you wish, Ma'am."

"I had no idea there were any Malmorians serving in the Union."

"Actually, I'm Tankinite, ma'am."

"Ah."

x

"Ma'am," Mercer says, "I expect you know much more detail on what is happening in your home than we do. If you wish to use one of your vessels we would be honored to escort you to Xelaya. Alternatively we have prepared one of our, well, a Pressure Chamber. It won't be luxurious, I grant, but you would be comfortable during your trip."

"I'm sorry, you misunderstand. I am sorry you came all this way but I am not going _any_ where."


	5. Planetfall

Chapter Five  
Planetfall

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but _Excuse_ _Me_?" Ed Mercer has this moment informed the sole survivor of an otherwise annihilated Xelayan royal family, the new head of a continental dynasty, that his ship stands ready to escort her back to her worse than decimated people in the hope of restoring order in the face of chaos and her reply had been 'I am not going anywhere'. "Your world, your home is in distress, untold _millions_ dead, society in chaos and as I understand it you are the only one who can put things into some kind of or–"

He recalls, hard to miss though surprise had made him forget, her delicate condition - in as much as a woman who could bench press a shuttle could be termed delicate. "Oh, I see. Excuse me. Ma'am, our Chief Medical Officer, Dr. Claire Finn, is one of the best in the fleet. Even in a pressure suit I assure you she is more than capable of dealing with any situation that may arise should you go into labor during the slightly more than one day trip."

"I'm sure she is, Captain, but I have physicians enough. I am not saying I cannot go back to Xelaya with you, I am saying I _refuse_ to go."

She reaches back to the desktop, touches something and the screen switches back to the distant blue green white planet surrounded by the black and multi-hued starry vista.

x

Mercer turns to Alara who can only spread her hands in bewilderment. His Chief of Security had seen the pictures yesterday of the nationwide devastation and they'd been enough to reduce the woman to trembling and tears.

If Lalaíth Kiernán, in refusing to help her people, has not seen the records of what happened to them he's happy to oblige.

"Lt. Kitan, please download what we've seen today."

"Already recorded."

"I'd expect no less." The screens on their portable sensor / recorder devices are not large but will be more than enough. "All right, Kelly, Isaac, Alara with me," he leads the exodus from the bridge, still speaking, "she can't hang up on me face to face. Bortus, you have the Con. Send Finn to the Shut–."

He backs out of his charge at the rear of the bridge when Kitan drops from the overhead an inch before his feet. "Sir, I had better go alone," she announces as he swallows his heart.

"What?" It had to have been an impressive jump, he'd seen the final instant but

"Captain, I grant you are in excellent condition," Kelly's silent input is given with rolling eyes, "but I cannot believe you are ready for moving about with your body weighing 1,580 pounds and your lungs having to cope with air pressurized to 129 pounds per square inch."

"Oh. Yeah." Humans have evolved to be comfortable with 14.7 psi at sea level. They can take 129 for Raquielian pressure or even 136.71 for Xelayan but the transition time is very long. Xelayans have been known to make the transition in as little as 200 seconds, though this is borderline dangerous, while humans need an hour for safe increase or reduction.

x

"Sir, on Xelaya I weighed 1,058 Terrestrial pounds–."

"You don't look it," he quips to cover his discomfort. Forgetting so important a point about the tremendous planet on the screen behind him is virtually unforgivable for a Captain. "Okay, point made, you go alone. After all, this'll be more a matter of honing your diplomatic skills."

"I've never been worried about your going anywhere on your own," Helmsman Gordon Malloy says.

"Thank you," she says across the bridge, grateful for the show of confidence. Rather, she's grateful for so much more but no one needs to know that.

"Sure. Anyone down there gets out of line, you throw 'em through a wall."

This time in her look all pleasure is washed away from her eyes. "Lieutenant, if it ever came to that it's likely they'll throw _me_ through a wall."

"Oh yeah," he says, thoroughly cowed but even more greatly distressed. "I forgot. Maybe you should have backup?"

"I'd welcome that," she keeps her gaze very carefully away from Kelly, "but there's the same problem."

"The use of two ships is also practical," Isaac says, "as the shuttle may not have enough power to reach escape velocity while at 878% of Earth's gravity, fully loaded and carrying an extra ton of passengers."

"Thank you, Isaac," she says with no gratitude.

"You are welcome, Lieutenant."

x

"Don't worry, Alara," Gordon assures, "I can catch you – we can catch you – the _Tractor Beam_ can catch you."

"I'm sure you can," she says, some of the tone non-official. "Bortus, is the shuttle prepped?"

"Yes, Lieutenant, extra air canisters, compressed to capacity, have been placed in the primary, secondary and tertiary atmospheric systems. They are sufficient to increase the pressure to Raquiel's 129.06 psi."

She looks up, meeting Mercer's eyes, her silent 'I'm ready' clear.

"Good luck, Lieutenant."

"Thank you, sir."

xxx

Immediately upon leaving the Bay and setting course for a controlled descent Alara feels the difference in the tug. In the moments since leaving she'd felt herself pulled right, then forward before settling upon down.

This far from the surface, eight times the Orville's usual geosynchronous orbit, she should not feel anything against the Shuttle's steady 1G downward pull. Instead, the competing tug had been strong and grows firmer by the moment. She shifts the unnecessary Grav Plating power to the engines where it will be sorely needed.

The Shuttle's systems are designed to be reliable against forces of 20 G but she never trusts factory ratings. If they can perform a soft landing against 8.78 times Earth's gravity she'll grant a strong probability that it can handle 9.22.

She'll find out for certain in a day and a quarter.

x

In the meantime, as soon as she had sealed the hatch the computer had begun the release of air from the main, reserve and emergency tanks, a gradual pressurization that will force the atmosphere to greater and greater density until it matches the programmed pressure equal to that of Raquiel. She need only breathe normally as the air around and within her thickens.

She sets the computer for a very careful entry. By the time the ship attains a weight of seventy nine tons there'll be no room for error so she cedes control. She'd feel more comfortable aboard a Xelayan ship, those are built for the escape velocities of 120 kps or better with corresponding inertial dampeners so she won't be a smear of red jelly on the bulkhead (sorry, Yaphit, still out of luck) but good pilot as she is she prefers to have the computer take the helm on this trip.

She's not Gordon, and much as she admires him he'd have trouble piloting down for a landing even in the 3Gs the instruments presently display.

She's still in the uppermost layer of the atmosphere but can see enough to identify the land masses beyond the clouds and knows where she's going based upon the initial communication contact.

When she drops through the clouds, not like a stone but over the well taxed repulsors she can pick out the city. Despite her care she feels very good. Her modified Quarters and Office (never again will she assume image is reality) allow her 500% of Earth normal; she is now at 6.43 Gs and climbing rapidly to 8.78 and she revels in the restored normality of her body. She must remember, when Leave time comes up and her duties don't press her - yeah, such a combination - to ask for time here if she can't go home.

She checks the readouts as the city looms below her; atmosphere 129 psi ( _finally_ something worth filling her near atrophied lungs with), her weight up to a decent 1,036, not what that zxlindec computer had said yesterday.

She pushes off from her chair, ignores the rude groan from the cushioned metal and walks to the rear of the cabin, revels in the interplay of her leg muscles and gives serious consideration, as she returns to the helm, of joining Lalaíth in her still to be explained rebellious stand.

If only the matter weren't so dreadfully catastrophic.

x

The city of Lintaris is a scant kilometer below and the computer, with a surety she wouldn't trust in herself as she adjusts to normality after too long, avoids the various air cars whose flight paths hers intersects. Now she's grateful for her lack of confidence in ceding control to the computer, for the pattern of the small vehicles' flights are distinguished by their lack of pattern.

She'd learned that Raquiel, like Xelaya, had gone through its long period of ultralight air ships but the power expenses to maintain flight were normally prohibitive for all but the most essential long range transportation. When increasing need reached a near breaking point technological research had produced a solution in the Anti-Grav device.

Whether Xelaya or Raquiel had developed the system first hardly matters to her (of _course_ Xelayan genius had developed the system first) it had turned 'essential only' air transportation into a private and family economy.

Traffic jams in a 3D system are hard to credit but she has known some regions of Xelaya to accomplish that nearly unthinkable goal and over this city the citizenry seems to be making a heroic effort at bettering it.

Nonetheless the computer has established a system which her eyes had missed and she's sure it had been established by legislation. She's never followed John LaMarr's explanation of pork belly politics though she expects that she is now seeing the real result of the same. She would have gone with a simple longitude altitude and a right angle latitude one, a bisected 45 degree angle pair as well and left the areas below for final approach to a destination but "I'm a Security Chief, not an Urban Planner."

She hopes the upcoming Conference will be a cordial one with an amicable solution, because she does not want to risk a tail-burning escape under fire.

xx

The city is laid out like spokes on a wheel, the largest buildings forming the hub.

She lands in the Northeast corner of a spaceport located between the ends of two spokes, a vast tract of land having been given over to the concerns for safety from the Titanic thrusts employed in launching a ship from this surface, or do they still employ solid fuel for propul - nonsense. This area would simply be a holdover from a previous epoch.

She powers down the shuttle and inputs an activation code before the sensors report the touching down of an antigrav transport behind her. A white and red uniformed woman pilots the open topped craft, more a sled than a vessel and, after a transmitted exchange of pleasantries with Glidnur (a rank by her tone) Cintalan Varmici, she prepares to switch over.

The woman who comes to meet her at the closing rear of the shuttle has the same distinct features she'd seen on Mustaplan, including larger than human ears but not significantly so, yet in a moment of their conversation where the woman mentions the conveyance behind her and turns slightly in a momentary emphasizing glance she sees the intricate canals distinctive of the race. The browline is slightly more pronounced than in humans yet the brow itself is trimmed to a gentler style, or is that a female affectation to distinguish them from men such as Mustaplan? She'll find out later.

She boards the sled and straps into a padded seat. The take off is appropriately smooth, the trip not overly windblown.

Her destination is not the tallest nor the most impressive in the hub, it's actually the fifth such of a complex and they land in an unoccupied rectangular space on the roof and make their way to an elevator. The weather is mild, Alara thinks 'spring afternoon' though she has no idea of the season and the yellow sun is, by dead reckoning, some forty degrees off the horizon.

She's annoyed with herself that she'd given over to physical reaction to the point where she hadn't given even the most cursory investigation of the planet. As Security Chief she is responsible for the safety of the crew and ship and all within these past twenty hours has combined to make her neglect the most basic aspects of her duty. Thank Xinxis she's alone.

She had better get her mind back on duty.

A ride downward, an escorted trip along three corridors to a large double door protected by soldiers dressed in a male version of Varmici's uniform and she is in the previously seen office of Altepo Mustaplan, presented now to both the Official and to Lalaíth Kiernán, who had at least granted her en-route request for a face-to-face meeting.

x

The two are as they were on the screen, Altepo Mustaplan behind the desk and Kiernán before it, as though they had not moved, unreasonable though that misassumption is, especially with the comfortable chair that had been out of scan earlier. With full scale now, Alara sees the woman before her to be an inch shy of six feet, though in another sense her fellow Xelayan is not an inch shy of anything. She doesn't need Claire Finn's skills to see that Kiernán is very close to term and that Admiral Halsey's hopes and prediction are not far removed. If she can persuade the woman to come with her, CE Newton had better nursemaid the Quantum drive.

Mustaplan rises and she's surprised. She hadn't done more than the most cursory research but if this administrator is typical of his race then she has been selling them short.

But no, she has already seen three other representatives of this race and she must get her thoughts back into order.

"Welcome, Lieutenant." He takes her hand and she loses it in his grip.

Introductions, already made by transmission, are concluded by the point: "Sir, Ma'am, if you are unsure of the gravity of the situation," she holds forth her data unit, "I have a full visual / auditory record as well as the sparse lists of casualties already confirmed, one ten thousandth of the total."

"You need not have brought them, Lieutenant," Kiernán says. "As I explained already, I am not leaving Raquiel, certainly not to return to Xelaya."

"With all due respect, Ma'am–" She suddenly realizes she has been living for a very long time among humans, that Captain Mercer is a very wise and accomplished negotiator, but she is on Raquiel with a fellow Xelayan. " _Why_ _in_ _Kronsis_ _not_? You are the Only Living Member of the Monarchy, your Subjects are in turmoil and without defined leadership – whole sections of Malmoria are out of touch with no food, water, power, medicine or hope – and you _Dare_ to abdicate your Responsibility to them?"

"When we left Xelaya because my late husband was never going to rule–"

"An irrelevant excuse now because _you_ _are_ going to rule."

"If I were Misvar you would not Dare speak to me like that."

"That's true, but you are not Misvar, you are Vlarea but you turned that down, so until you pick it up again and assume the responsibility you fated yourself for when you agreed to marry into the Malmorian Royal Family you are a Malmorian, I am a Tankinite and if you do not do your duty for your people who need you then you are a worthless kraxtaf."

x

She sees, peripherally, Mustaplan go green and realizes he must have a passing knowledge of Xelayan, at least of some of its choicest terms, for she had dug very deeply.

But Kiernán smiles. "No one has dared use such language to me in…." Alara keeps tight rein on a more vicious retort, saves it until she knows if this is victory or merely the opening round. "Perhaps too long."

"I am an Officer with duties, and crew under me with their duties, and Xinxis try to defend those who do not do theirs."

"I think I begin to like you, Lutany. I shall travel in my yacht."

xxx

Alara had been surprised by the suddenness of the decision but had masked it in alacrity, for it is less than twenty five minutes before the Orville's shuttle escorts a jade green ship some twenty percent larger but similar in design - a control room, a cabin and an engine - through the upper atmosphere. Though the technology is different on the elegant vessel, no Quantum rings but rather rear and base planted engines, it is stripped down to the basics to fight the stupendous gravity. While the downward pointing antigrav system will get it away from the planet, thrust comes from the rear engines which, she's 'assured', can keep pace with any ship in space. It is one of the Royal family's yachts, the Cinsaan (though calling the small craft a yacht is stretching the term), which had transported Zarín and Lalaíth Kiernán to Raquiel six years ago, and is the fastest ship in the sector.

The Orville had not been launched when this ship had last seen service.

However, Alara's concerns turned out to be unwarranted for, few moments after the Union shuttle docked in the Launching Bay, at her strong recommendation the Earth ship set off for Xelaya with the yacht on its starboard side matching the increasing pace until

x

"Speed at 62%," Gordon announces as Kitan steps on to the Bridge. She greets the Command Officers silently so as not to interrupt and takes her station.

"At this rate," John LaMarr says, "with some gravitational detours around three stars that you won't even notice, E.T.A. to Xelaya is three days, three hours."

"And eighteen minutes," Isaac clarifies.

"I know what time it is," the Navigator mutters, "I don't need a bloomin' cuckoo clock."

"Inquiry," Isaac says, turning about in his seat. "Coo - koo clock?"

Because it had been said sotto vocé, Mercer had been prepared to let LaMarr's comment go but the Kaylon's volume had brought the entire bridge into it. "An ancient device for telling time, designed to draw attention to its passage with hourly notifications."

Kelly cuts in with "Usually deemed of high accuracy."

"Indeed."

"Oh, yes."

"Then it is a compliment."

"Whatever boats your float," LaMarr finishes.

"Would it be too much trouble for someone to put our guest up on the screen?"

"Hailing," Alara announces. "Contact established, coming up."

The view of rushing space covers the bridge's wide panorama but a square space in its center reveals a smaller bridge, the predominant color being jade, the view centered upon the woman before them.

"Your majesty, I am Captain Ed Mercer. Thank you for joining us."

"It is no kindness, Captain, but you do have a very persuasive Officer. She has reminded me of my status and my duty."

"She is a valuable Officer. I'm not sure how days and so forth convert but in Earth hours the journey should last…."

"Seventy five hours," LaMarr confirms.

"And sixteen minutes," comes from starboard.


	6. Under Way

Chapter Six  
Under Way

When the mission is long but the actual moments are uneventful, Ed Mercer is inclined to be more generous with break time, so long as no one over indulges in the privilege. As he has never been inclined to define what constitutes an over indulgence he has kept the men and women around him conservative.

It is during one such break, timed not to be noticeable when his Chief of Security steps away from her station that he walks beside her off the bridge. "So," he says, "do I miss my guess in that you were hoping to travel to Xelaya in that ship?"

"It's tempting," she says, glancing toward the left bulkhead beyond which flies the small green vessel off their starboard bow. "It's a Xelayan ship, which means it's designed properly."

He fights a comradely smile, knowing how he'd feel if he'd spent four years conforming to, say, a Tomarkan world and vessel, had had a taste of near-Earth environment and now had an Earth vessel a scant few dozen meters away.

It would have been a simple matter for the shuttle to be returned to the bay by remote guidance and she could easily have justified the indulgence by saying it was a diplomatic move to have a native Officer make the trip with their Honored Guest.

"I admire your restraint."

"Thank you, sir." At half volume she asks "Why then do I feel like an idiot?"

"Most occasions of restraint usually cause that." Aloud, he says "I think I'll have you act as our Diplomatic Liaison on this trip, as our usual amenities like a welcome dinner are out of the question."

"Yes, sir."

"We're 73 hours out. You can transfer to the other vessel at fourteen thirty."

"Aye, Captain."

x

And thus it went. The first hours of the journey, at 62% of the starship's cruising velocity, were as uneventful as they should be. Space is vast, exciting moments rare and generally to be avoided, for such excitement usually means that something has gone wrong and too often potentially calamitous and possibly fatal consequences can ensue.

Ed Mercer has no objection to sitting at his post as the chronometer closes on midpoint for Alpha shift, hand on cheek supporting his head, watching the ever changing vista of Quantum speed space upon the forward screen while feeling his beard grow.

"Lunch break," Gordon Malloy announces, leaving his station under the care of his partner. There's little call for both Helmsman and Navigator while the ships slice space in a straight line.

"Enjoy," Mercer says by way of permission, knowing the glib man would never step from his duties without having summoned his relief. "Save some for the rest of us."

"No promises, Captain, the Special is Lobster."

"What? For lunch?"

"That's what makes it special."

x

Alara, feeling no need to deprive herself (the Captain will very soon order her transfer) she gets clearance from Lt. Cmdr. Bortus at her left that he has her station as well as his own, said cooperative practices a staple of all adjoining stations, gets a nod from the Captain as she crosses behind Cmdr. Grayson and proceeds down the wide corridor. She doesn't remember the last time she's had lobster - okay, she's never had it for lunch, but she would like to get some free time alone - none so far - with–

She goes to instant alert when she walks into the hand that clamps over her mouth, can't fight yet the simultaneous yank on her right arm but as she's pulled past the corridor intersection she halts the reflexive fist as the hand is replaced by warm lips and the arms that encircle her torso promise no violence at all.

She must tilt her head up to return the warm pleasure properly but a moment later, very conscious of their exposed position, she reaches up one finger to the red beard and gives a steady push until the head is far enough for her to see Gordon Malloy properly.

"You almost got snapped like a twig."

"I like to live dangerously," he assures her as quietly, not releasing her yet able to keep partial watch down the corridor behind her.

She's as alert to the view beyond him. "Dangerous doesn't cover this. You are nothing like Josh or Andy."

"Should hope not. I won't cut and run."

She grasps the front of his orange jacket under his neck. "Maybe you should."

"No way. I'm like a bad penny, you can't get rid of me."

She spares a downward flicker. "Don't want to get rid of your pennie." This time she's ready for his kiss and comes up to meet it.

x

The passing of a crewman forces them to separate and they stay apart rather than indulge in foolish risks. Kelly knows, she has no idea how indiscreet the man has been (does the entire crew know the story?) but for the time she wants to keep this a private affair - at least until she can figure out what it is.

"I wish you weren't going to that other ship."

"It'll give you something to look forward to," she promises.

"I've looked forward to it for hours."

"Later. Right now I'm hungry." His look is pure evil. "For food. That famous lobster. I've never had one, at least not as lunch."

"It's a real treat, especially once you coax it out of its shell."

If his tone, his eyes, carried any more innuendo it would probably hurt. "How is it served?" she asks with a carefully restrained smile.

"Often on a bed of lettuce," he says in very warm tones, "with sprinkles of lemon juice and butter."

She's certain it's going to be some time before she gets to the mess hall.

Well, why not?

"I've never tried it that way."

xxx

"We propose," Ed Mercer says to their Royal guest on the large viewscreen an hour later, "that Lieutenant Kitan transfer to your ship to act as Ambassador pro temporé. Until we reach Xelaya." On the screen the dominant color of the small bridge is the jade of the Xelayan ship's exterior.

"That would be acceptable. I welcome the company."

The glance Mercer gives to the Security Chief carries a silent message that she should try to learn the reason for Lalaíth's initial reluctance (a.k.a. refusal) to return to her home planet. And it would be good to have a second Xelayan woman on board the ship in the event that earlier optimistic gynecological estimates prove too optimistic.

"If you'll bring your ship to a halt she will shuttle aboard."

Alara looks forward to sampling some Raquielian food or even better some Xelayan delicacies. After so many years anything would be a delicacy and her stomach is growling.

xxx

She'd adjusted the shuttle's gravity plating to maximum but stepping into the yacht still makes her knees buckle for a moment before she adjusts.

"I'm glad you came," her hostess informs her in Xelayan as she settles into the pilot station, a careful easing into a seat now too small for her expanded girth, and Alara takes the co-pilot seat. They go through the minor details of separation, the remote guided return of the shuttle and the resumption of their flight. She keeps a careful watch upon her hostess; strength and stamina are sometimes inadequate when carrying an eleven month fetus.

"I wasn't sure I'd be welcome," she replies in her own dialect. It feels good to think and say the same words, not to have to translate everything. Though English has become normal after four Earth years among humans - anything to break from the mental disruption of the Autotrans where you hear both languages not quite simultaneously - it is good to get back to speaking properly.

"On the contrary, I want you close. It makes it easier, as I have learned the humans say, to wring your neck."

x

"Ma'am?" She's surprised but not apprehensive. All other things being equal she's quite confident she can handle the implied threat but all things are not equal. The woman looks as though she's one strenuous effort away from going into labor.

"You shamed me into coming back," she says, waving her hand to a small display screen on the left side of the control panel. It's at a poor angle for Alara to see distinctly but what she can make out is enough. There are many millions of images of devastation streaking out from their planet and she's seen more than her fill.

"Perhaps I merely reminded you of your duty." That had been her intent.

Lalaíth winces, clutching her middle. From the way she'd moved beneath the dress that was a formidable kick and Alara waits until the woman can relax and speak again.

"Duty. I owe no duty to those people." She turns toward the forward screen, rushing Doppler images on stars and stellar matter producing rainbow streaks that rush to them to pass on all sides. "None at all."

"Why not?" is Alara's opening to diplomacy and statesmanship and remains unanswered save by the rapid beeping from the panels before them, interpreted as the

"Proximity Alert." Lalaíth operates the controls as Alara touches the Comm strip on her left sleeve.

x

"Alara to Orville," she says in English. "We're getting–."

/So are we, Lieutenant./ Mercer's voice comes over with crystal clarity from a hundred meters away. At that moment a white and silver vessel, larger than Orville, flashes to a figurative halt far ahead, the image automatically enhanced as the two ships drop out of their headlong rushes, the physics of transition from Quantum drive to space normal thrusts making the vessels appear to slam to an instantaneous stop while the quantum field propagates beyond them and to drift forward at the impetus of thrusters until they halt some seven hundred meters apart.

But that brief pause is enough to allow sharpened tensions to ease and for Lalaíth to announce in English as well. "It's all right. It's a Xelayan cruiser, transponder code identifies it as the Exizdav."

"They put something together after all," Alara's conclusion is sent to the Orville as well.

"They're hailing," Lalaíth says as she reaches for the control, switching back to Xelayan. "This is the Cinsaan out of Raquiel."

/This is the Cruiser Exizdav. We have been sent to escort Misvar Lalaíth Kiernán to Xelaya. Is she aboard your vessel?/

They use the Queen title, evidently either uninformed or taking the cautious track in that jumbled, mapless journey that is diplomacy.

Alara is about to speak but Lalaíth is already answering. "This is Lalaíth Kiernán. Welc –."

They see the straight on flash at the same instant that the ship is slammed almost harder than the gravplating and flight straps can hold the women in place, the explosion roars through the cockpit and every control flares and goes as dark as the main lights.


	7. Assassination

Chapter Seven  
Assassination

"They are firing on the Cinsaan," is Bortus' unnecessary report as the appalled crew watches the royal family yacht tumble off to starboard.

At other times Mercer would think of warnings and diplomacy, not now. "Gordon, put us between them, deflectors on full. Bortus, target their weapons and fire."

Even as the image on the screen tilts to show their new orientation and the leftward rush of star stuff in the distance they hear the audio confirmation of the ship's main batteries launch blast after blast at the attacking Xelayan cruiser. Once the threat is neutralized he'll have an equally fiery talk with that ship's Commander, but for now he only cares that the starship is blocking the Exizdav's assault.

The stars on the viewscreen drop downward. "He's trying to get a shot over our heads," Malloy reports. "Blocking."

Mercer won't tell him to stay with it. His helmsman is too ready but he does want to see the battle as a whole. "Tactical."

On the screen the expected view appears, two large circles, right one blue, left one blood red, while on the far right a smaller circle wobbles away toward the lower right corner. The blue circle is getting closer to the small one while red and blue lines slice between the large indicators, corresponding to firing weapons and the shuddering of force against their deflectors.

"Can we get tractors on the Cinsaan?" They'd been spinning wildly before they left the viewscreen.

"Already done, sir," LaMarr announces. Relieved of directing the ship - the Orville is not going anywhere other than directly between the Xelayan ships - he is free to reach out and grab the wounded prey. "Have to ease them to a stop, they'll be pretty badly disoriented."

"Treat them gently."

"Aye, sir," Gordon answers for his partner. There is much in his tone beyond concern for the well being of a pregnant woman.

x

The tactical display shows a final series of blue lines and the bridge goes quiet a moment before Bortus' announcement that "All weapons aboard the Exizdav have been destroyed–" the image changes to a real time view of the distressed ship, "and we have inflicted considerable damage to their engines."

"Pity. Now maybe they'll be in a mood to talk. Ensign Clinton," he says to the man at Kitan's station, "hail them."

If light could drown out sound, Mercer's 'them' would have been cut by the flash and they watch, again appalled as the vessel expands around a brief but intense fireball. Even as the flame is immediately snuffed out by the vacuum, the ship flies apart in scores of fragments.

"Bortus!"

"Not our doing, Captain. Instruments read a fusion detonation was triggered within the ship."

"They blew themselves up." Even saying it doesn't alleviate the horror.

"How's the Cinsaan?" Kelly Grayson demands.

"I read no power aboard," Isaac reports from his starboard Science station. "There are two life signals registering but all systems have been heavily damaged or are destroyed. However the hull, though damaged, is not compromised."

That had been Mercer's concern, the vessel had spun out so wildly he'd feared it was under the impetus of over 120 pounds per square inch of atmosphere escaping from any number of ruptures. "Tractor it aboard and immediately pressurize the landing bay." He touches a control on his arm rest. "Doctor Finn, get your team into pressure suits and down to the Bay, prepare to treat two casualties. Isaac, you're with me."

He's out of his seat and headed for the large rear portal without waiting for the physician's answer, a rightward glance finds his First Officer coming up at his side. He can hear the Kaylon officer following. "I should have done this from the start."

"You couldn't have predicted this. And that boat will take up most of the bay."

"I'm not leaving that excuse open any more after this, and you heard Isaac; after they're out and safe we can scrap that thing for all I care."

xx

Mercer and Grayson go to the E deck's upper control station to look down upon the jade vessel while Isaac, not affected by atmosphere or gravity, enters through the airlock with Claire Finn and her staff in their pressure suits rather than using the main entryway. The ship's forward port side is blackened and much of the surface instrumentation is a flash melted and blown apart wreck. It is good fortune that this first devastating attack had spun the small ship into so wildly erratic a path and allowed the Orville to interpose itself.

x

The yacht is dead on the bay deck and the readings in the control room show the ship completely unpowered, but Isaac's strength exceeds Kitan's and the port yields to his effort. As soon as there is enough space to do so Finn boards the vessel.

/They're conscious,/ comes the report.

/We're fine,/ Alara's voice filters through the circuit. /Just dizzy as klemnam./

 _/E –_ see for you to say./ comes Lalaíth's voice sounding like it's being forced through gritted teeth. /This one's throwing a _Tan_ -trum./

/We'll be out shortly,/ Claire says and her voice changes as she speaks toward the door. /Bring the gurneys./

"That's fine, Doctor. Take all the time you need."

/Oh, I _will_./ Then: /Oh No You _Don't_. You get on that and you lie on it until I get you both down to Sick Bay and do a thorough examination of you. And You, your Highness, you don't go anywhere until we get you into a pressure suit. Six steps out into the corridor and you'll suffocate./

Mercer does a quick glance and sees grins on all in the control room.

Finn is in command and all's right with the deck.

But not up here. He stabs the comm button to the bridge. "Get on subspace to Xelaya," he says, not caring to whom. "Find out what the _Hell_ is going on."

x

Mercer tried to keep his relief from his voice when what he wants to do is blow out a massive draught of air. He knows that with systems operating but the visiscreen out the women might not even have been aware of the wild spin, but with stabilizers, gravity and inertial dampeners all out 'dizzy' doesn't cover it.

He'd had images of their unsecured bodies smeared to paste on all six sides of the control room, but seeing the two women carried out from the portal, the Queen encased in dark 'armor' and Alara's body language shouting that she's fighting the restriction of the CMO's command, gives him back the twenty years he'd lost since the initial blast.

He restores the connection to the bridge. "Bortus, alert the crew that gravity plating will be set at 5Gs between the Launch Bay and Sick Bay until the Queen passes. Isaac can carry her."

He then switches back to the initial circuit through Finn. "Queen Lalaíth, Isaac will transport you along the direct route to Sick Bay, everyone else will follow once the plating returns to 1G. Sorry for any discomfort that may cause but we have to check you both out."

/I will not protest,/ she assures them.

/It'll be a slow trip,/ Finn declares.

"Let it be." He'll meet them on the way and follow beyond the range.

xx

When all are gathered in the Sick Bay Lalaíth lies upon a Diagnostic bed in the pressure chamber Finn had prepared since the original assignment of this mission, weighted to 5Gs and set to 129 pounds per square inch, Alara confined to a corresponding diagnostic. Finn and Nurse Henry Park wear their pressure suits as they attend to the women while Mercer, Grayson and Isaac observe through a wide window of transparent aluminum. Mercer's first thought is for his Security Chief whom he'd sent into danger. "How are you?"

/I'm fine, sir./ she says over the intercom.

She gets off the Diagnostic table and Claire, her focus on the other woman, makes no issue of the move. But even at a much greater distance Mercer could read the lie; the restraining straps had probably felt like they were slicing her into segments, but without being able to order her to strip so he can assess the damage he must take her at her word.

He will, however, order her to remain in the chamber when they go; she is still the ambassador to the Malmorian Queen - or whatever - and Finn can examine her when she's sure mother and fetus have come through this without incident.

"Doctor, how is she?"

 _/Not_ fine,/ Kiernán declares. /I would say light headed from being weightless except everything is too light and I hurt in parts of my body I'd forgotten I have./ The words end on a sharp exclamation and she clutches her abdomen and has to fight for breath before she can speak again.

/My own people have fired on me, on us, and would have killed my daughter, to say nothing of your officer./ This is the first mention of the sex of the baby and Mercer realizes he has been letting proprieties overwhelm even his natural curiosity.

/They do not need me to solve their problems; they do not _want_ me. Captain, I demand you turn this ship around and return us to Raquiel where my daughter can be born in peace and safety. We will _not_ assume the Albitras, we will never go to Xelaya, we will never set foot in Quintaru - _ever_!/

x

"Mrs. Kiernán, I don't blame you for being upset. If I were in your position I wo–."

/You would _never_ be in my position./

He glances to Grayson, seeking her input, but the look in her eyes contains all the answer he can stand.

They have not addressed the reason for the suicidal attack, Xelaya is silent to this moment. Bortus will call if something comes through but he hates having to wait for _Diplomats_ to send him an answer.

"Mrs. Kiernán, your feelings are running high, I can certainly understand that, but we have to measure all this against the help that you can give through your daughter's regency."

/No! I will _Not_./

Mercer looks to Alara, she steps to the other side from Finn. "Vlarea, if you would –."

/Manguis ma _na_ vier!/ she bites. /Kalaigh tuvinir di _kron_ las!/

The humans watch the furious words slam into their shipmate and her expression falls.

/Markirtuvon di _vasniq_!/ the erstwhile queen declares in volcanic tones.

Kitan's eyes are wide enough Mercer thinks it should hurt. /Dapris duclastnu?/ she asks, sounding like she's feeling her way through a mine field. /Monsier?/

/Turvin majasni. Morkovani mac guvniursag. Kilbicaz tu _vas_ nici!/

/ _Kashnis_./

The last has the flavor of something the petite woman would not otherwise say in her Captain's or Commander's presence. "Alara?"

Kitan steps to the transparent aluminum and what color she's had has fled from her face. /Captain…/ her words are driven to an appalled whisper, /we cannot do this./


	8. Deception Compounded

Chapter Eight  
Deception Compounded

"All right, Alara," Ed Mercer declares before his Security Chief and First Officer follow him through his office door. He has restrained himself all the way from Sick Bay following the Queen's refusal to cooperate and her demand to be returned to Raquiel, the furious and appalled exchange of untranslated Xelayan followed by Kitan's declaration that their mission cannot progress and her appeal to discuss the matter in private. He has contained himself for as long as he intends. He sits behind his desk and glares up at his officer. "Out with it. What's going on?"

"Sir, I'm sorry, I never had any idea–."

"Alara, you'll find my patience was exhausted before we left Sick Bay. Tell me."

Alara turns an appealing look to Kelly beside her and through whether telepathy or bond or understanding between women that is forever outside his purview there is no doubt in his First Officer's eyes that she knows the answer before Alara says "The baby is not Zarín Kiernán's."

" _Whose_ _is_ _it_?" How much worse can this mission get?

"I didn't get that out of her yet," Alara confesses. There hadn't been much in that exchange. "All that I know is that she was pregnant when her husband died and that it is not his."

x

Yes, this is setting a record for a ship that already has a devastating history. No matter how things might have gone, Zerín Kiernán's death had delayed the revelation of the fetus' paternity but with this issue, bringing back the last survivor of the Dynasty to rule via proxy until the country can be put to rights absolutely depends upon the equivalent of a Royal nativity and a wife, be she faithful or not, does not enter into the consideration.

All that matters to the legitimacy of the Royal Line is the parentage through the natural born Royal, not a spouse from another family line.

"So," he sits back, the better to view the women and the situation, "let me test my understanding of this: whether she goes on to Xelaya or not, the plan's kaput."

"Yes, sir."

He leans back even further, eyes cast up to the overhead. 'Boy, a temper tantrum would make me feel so much better right now.'

But he must sit forward again. "Alara, pull every bit of information out of her. I have to contact Halsey and get new orders." 'God, he is going to hate me.'

xxx

There are two ways of doing this, the coward's way - to Mercer's thinking – is first to the Admiral, then find someone in what passes for the government and go over everything again, then to….

Not only has a humanitarian effort devolved into someone shooting at one of his officers and an interplanetary V.V.I.P. but said person had started out unwilling to cooperate and now has a basket load of reasons to turn around and go home - rather than to return to her home.

Mercer is definitely opposed to the easy way out of this.

Thus the preparation took over an hour, during which the Orville, having jettisoned the Cinsaan and what could not be salvaged from it, has resumed course at full speed and now is billions of miles closer to what will undoubtedly be a climactic homecoming. Now communication systems on ship and on two worlds display a four way conversation, three to a screen, which Mercer feels should be preserved for posterity.

'How Not To Save A Country.'

x

On the bridge's wide viewscreen - no need for secrecy when the lives of this crew may be put at risk though he does order the main doors in the aft section closed for discretion's sake - are the images from three other monitors.

In the center image the once-to-be Regent Lalaíth Kiernán reclines at her doctor's command upon a diagnostic bed in the pressure chamber set at 129 psi and weighted to 5G while at the left image white haired, purple jacketed Admiral Halsey hides his distress behind a mask of long experience.

On the right Fifth Assistant of the Second Deputy Minister for Foreign Affairs Teckel Varnus looks thrust into his job (he was presented as the senior officer in the bureau) and by his expression he fears his already hard day is destined to become cataclysmic.

"We did not send that ship. We did not send any ship. We do not have a ship to spare."

"We realize that, Minister Varnus," Mercer tries to placate, using a title he suspects the man would like to run away from. "Have you any idea who might have?"

"Hardly needs guesswork. DieTarpuns. They are the only ones who have the slightest thing to gain from preventing our Misvar from assuming the throne."

"I do not _want_ the Albitras. They can _have_ it. I want only to go back to Raquiel and raise my family and live in peace."

"But Misvar Kier –."

"I am _not_ Misvar. That is what you are trying to make my daughter. I do not even want to be Vlarea."

Mercer, in fact the entire command crew, knows how much the woman does not want even the Regent's position. That has been made abundantly clear from minute one. "You mean this whole issue is pure politics?" He keeps this, with difficulty, one notch below a demand. "You're _saying_ that these people would have millions suffer in the present chaos merely to secure control over what is left of your country?"

"Captain, there is never anything pure about politics," Varnus says, "but your summary is essentially correct."

x

Halsey, in his office and displayed on the left of the screen seated before the wood paneling and huge Planetary Union Central emblem, wants to know "Is there any way an accord can be reached?"

"Admiral, the DieTarpu party has spent it's existence as an ignored minority. In fact, they were never considered by the Powers That Be in the Kiernán dynasty to rise even to the level of a minority. But while Quintaru is essentially leveled the DieTarpu never had a stronghold in our capital city. Therefore their non-centralized structure was less badly hit. It will be weeks before we know even an unreliable number of the dead or wounded but they look upon this as an opportunity to establish themselves within the surviving society."

"Then if they have resources and ability," Halsey says, "it seems we should be talking to them."

"They are opportunists."

"They are Xelayans," Halsey stresses. "Specifically, Malmorians."

"They're your own people," Mercer seconds. "Your neighbors, maybe even your families, and they've been hit as hard. What's wrong with talking to them?"

"I would," Lalaíth declares. "If you make me come out there, I will."

"Majesty, you have no idea what you're saying."

"Then enlighten me, because at this moment I'm willing to give them a seat at the table."

Mercer thinks Varnus is one second from fainting.

x

"They attacked you."

"I'm interested in why they felt they had a reason, reason enough to kill themselves to kill my daughter and me."

"Things have changed in the years you have been gone, Highness."

"Undoubtedly. What things?"

"As hard as the DieTarpuns have pushed for representation in the government, monarchist as it is, there are local bodies, your family h–"

"Not _my_ family."

"The Tiran has pushed back and the rest of the family supported that stand."

"And now the Tiran is dead."

"And we," Mercer says, knowing he's repeating LaMarr's earlier point, "are bringing in the last survivor to re-establish the monarchy." He hadn't liked hearing it yesterday, likes less having to say it.

"You must - before the DieTarpun leadership can rally the people behind their banner."

"Well, sir, that problem hit an asteroid."

Mercer wonders if Varnus can quit, suspects he is really going to want to.

"What do you mean?"

Lalaíth says it first. "My baby is not the child of Zarín Kiernán."

x

'He had better have a doctor on stand-by,' Mercer thinks. A glance to his left shows Kelly Grayson is likely thinking the same thing. Halsey is closed off.

"Wha – how – what happened – how could ?"

"The answer should be obvious even to a politician," Lalaíth snaps, "and you do not need any details."

Varnus heaves himself out of his seat, out of the frame, and Mercer isn't sure if he's looking for a soft place to land upon or a refresher to relieve himself of a suddenly distressing lunch.

The silence weighs heavily on bridge, office and sick bay until finally Tekel Varnus reappears, his distress replaced by determination.

"This is what we are going to do. When you land you will be Certified by Genetic Scientists to be carrying the legitimate offspring of the Royal Line. The child will be inducted and seated upon the Albitras and you will serve as her Regent to re-establish Order. There is no other way."

"And when she is born and there is nothing of Zarín recognizable in h–?"

"Children often do not resemble either parent after the throes of labor, and the truth will be established that she is legitimate."

"Her father is a Raquielian. Have you ever seen a Raquielian?"

Mercer glances at Alara, who had spent time down there. She returns a blank expression that says much.

"No."

"A hybrid is not a full Xelayan. Raquiel would not care but Xelaya does, one strong reason why I did not want to return. Anyone with eyes–"

"She will rule. There is no other way."

"Have you listened to nothing we've said?" Halsey demands, a breach of protocol sparked by frustration. "You have the opportunity to establish a peaceful accord that can–."

" _There Is No Other Way._ "

x

"I refuse," Lalaíth says, her quiet determination breaking the silence.

Varnus draws himself to his full height and proclaims that "Your people await your arrival, Vlarea. They will be well assured that you bring the Misvar, the true heir to the Kiernán throne."

The right image goes dark.


	9. Besmirchment

Chapter Nine  
Besmirchment

When Tekel Varnus, Fifth Assistant of the Second Deputy Minister for Foreign Affairs and the top surviving relevant officer in the rubble of the Malmorian government made his proclamation that the mission is going ahead, deception and all, it had effectively silenced all opposition.

For the moment.

"Captain, you cannot hand me over to those people," Lalaíth Kiernán protests in high outrage from her Sick Bay diagnostic bed. The gravity plating within the pressure chamber has been set to maximum, slightly more than one half her accustomed weight but she is trapped there by fiat, not by force. Queen-Presumptor or Regent she may be, in Sick Bay Claire Finn is Empress and she will permit no risks to the near-term fetus who, but for careful timing in their journey, could make her arrival into this ship suffused with High Drama before the Orville reaches Xelaya. And while Lalaíth could survive for a very short time without gradual acclimation to Earth's pressure and gravity (Alara had been five months in learning how to adapt and to function normally) the infant would not have those months.

Mercer, feeling equally trapped on the bridge, allows his face to show to his Commander a measure of his distress.

"Mrs. Kiernán," Admiral Halsey speaks to her from his New York Office on the split screens on Bridge and Infirmary, "we will talk and get back to you."

Alara, at the port side Communications console, backs Lalaíth's image off the split screen and in Sick Bay that monitor goes dark.

x

"I confess, Captain, that I do not envy you." In the privacy of his Office it would be 'Ed' but this crew has already been shot at and deserves to know what their future holds and why.

"This is a decision that shouldn't have to have been made," Mercer says.

"Agreed."

"What is your recommendation, Admiral?"

With that phrasing much is said. Mercer would have been in his rights, and probably would be very wise, to have passed responsibility for this up the line, insulating himself and his crew from the consequences of ninety nine different disasters if he doesn't choose the single correct path. And yet he did not, something he sees his old friend keeps masked from the rest of the crew - with the probable exception of his First Officer.

"Your mission had been to transport Lalaíth Kiernán to Xelaya and we all know what's at stake. Society, everything up to and including Emergency Services, is in chaos. The monarchy had been so strong, so pervasive in people's lives, that no one knows how to operate without it. Too many officials, rather than acting and coordinating, are waiting for orders that will not come. Hardly one percent of the people have any idea this is beyond a local problem.

"Communications are shattered for the vast majority of the survivors. Food and water are scarce and few know where to send what surplus they may have. Malmoria is several times the size of Australia surrounded by ocean and separated by twelve thousand miles from their nearest neighbor. The only travel options are by air. No one has enough authority to act beyond local matters and the local governments are very much local. A central voice is needed on the ground or I would have told you to transmit instructions back as soon as she was aboard.

"However, the curve ball of parentage means even if she does go back of her own will nothing will be accomplished."

"They seem determined to bluff their way through this," Mercer says, "at least the head of that branch of the government, the third assistant of the second deputy or whatever Minister for foreign affairs, does." There, was that irony troweled on thickly enough?

x

Halsey's eyes shift to his right. "What is your determination, Lieutenant?"

Alara slowly stands up and not for any issue with the gravity plating. Her normally pale face is significantly lighter and Mercer thinks he can read 'my determination is that I wish the deck would open up and swallow me'.

She draws herself as upright as when she'd had to deal with the devastation to her world - was it really less than 48 hours ago?

"Sir. Admiral. Sir… permission to speculate freely?"

They can watch Halsey restrain his bemusement. "Granted."

"Sir, I'm not a Malmorian, I'm from Tankin on the other side of the planet so I don't know them but I've dealt with officious men; my father is – well, that's neither here nor there as humans would say. But I believe everyone in this matter. I believe Tekel Varnus when he says they will, Gordon, what's the phrase I'm looking for?"

He turns to her and for an instant she looks like she'd like to lose herself in his gaze. "Bluff it out?"

"Yes. Thank you. Bluff it out." She turns back to Halsey on the forward screen, looking like she wishes she were in New York and that he were here. "I believe him when he says they will declare the daughter the legitimate heir. And I believe Lalaíth, who knows both Zarín Kiernán and the father when she says it won't work. Having been on Raquiel I know that since the father is a Raquielian a bluff won't last three seconds after birth. And I believe the DieTarpu Party, which launched a ship that Malmoria cannot spare to blow the Cinsaan out of space - with me on board - and they were willing to commit suicide rather than to be taken, will act again.

"And I believe Varnus will try, the deception will fail, DieTarpu will be furious and launch a Civil War to be fought upon the rubble of a devastated Continent."

x

Mercer wants to deny this, to declare it impossible, that people who have been subjected to the traumas these people have endured for days would not think of going to war over –. But wars frequently start when emotions are high, when people feel they've been backed into a corner, when people without much power over their own lives feel betrayed by people with pow–.

Yeah, war.

"We need more information. Alara, go down there and wring every drop of information out of Kiernán. Bortus, get on to Xelaya. I want to talk to someone in power, see if they're going to bluff this out or if they're willing to listen to another way, whatever that is."

xxx

"They hurt you, didn't they?" Alara asks when she steps out of the airlock which has also eased her up to 5G.

"What could you know?" Lalaíth demands.

"Nothing. Ninety percent of what I know about Malmoria I learned in the past two days. Tankin is very different." She stands close to the bed, which also serves to invade Kiernán's space. "Xelayans prize Intellectual pursuits above the military," as she knows too well from her seemingly interminable debates with her father, but "I was _shocked_ to be _fired_ _upon_ by a Xelayan vessel."

Lalaíth rests her head upon the pillow, speaks to the overhead. "Perhaps you are more naïve than you seemed."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps you are more jaded than you seemed."

The woman who would not be Queen turns her head, regards her for several seconds. "Perhaps."

"What happened on Raquiel?" Her eyes flicker to the woman's abdomen as if she needed the elucidation.

The look from the reclining woman becomes a glare. "I should tell you it is none of your business."

"It became my business when it affected this mission. I am Chief of Security, we have - astoundingly enough - already been fired upon and if this ship is to go into a dangerous situation when we get to Xelaya it is most emphatically my business. Now, how comes it that your husband Zarín was reported alive when you conceived that child yet you are pregnant with another man's baby?"

x

Lalaíth pulls herself upright; though her weight is slightly more than one half what she is used to it is a matter of balance so Alara steadies her with a hand to her back. She gets herself seated, legs draped off the table and they're now at eye level. "How many years since you left Xelaya?"

Answering a human she would have to perform mental gymnastics to arrive at an Earth figure of four and something but with a fellow Xelayan "Two and three eighths years."

"I would have thought a lot longer. For so personal a thing, I would have been in my rights to declare kasmalchá."

Alara fights a grin at the ludicrous thought. "Kasmalchá hardly applies. As Security Chief I am rated Expert in seven distinct forms of unarmed combat whereas you needed my help to sit up. Plus, it's not a besmirchment of your Honor when you told us the child is not your husband's, so there's no point in not telling us, especially if you would appeal to the Captain for help."

x

Lalaíth stares into her eyes for many moments but finally "Our relationship was not cordial," she says in distant tones. "Couples, with all old hopes, grow apart. We kept the issue between us but Zarín knew the baby was not his. You neither need nor are entitled to the details."

"The father is a Raquielian?"

"Don't ask stupid questions you already know the answer to."

"So when she is born–."

"Everyone will see immediately that my daughter is a Xelayan / Raquielian hybrid, something that is not _rejected_ on Raquiel."

She works her way back down upon the bed, but addresses the overhead. "So, now that you know as much of the truth as you need, what are you going to do?"


	10. Conference Coil

Chapter Ten  
Conference Coil

Ed Mercer loves the fact that he has his own office, his place of thinking. As First Officer of the Tyson, a Scout Ship, he hadn't had the luxury, but he'd quickly learned the benefit of a space he could call his own. Of course, today it serves as no sanctuary, not from troubles like these.

Their royal passenger has added new depth to the word 'reluctant', and she clearly has excellent justification for they were only a fraction of the way from Raquielian space when a Xelayan vessel tried to redefine her mission by shooting at her.

That the act was politically motivated is a no-brainer of monumental proportions. Members of the Freedom Party, DieTarpu in the Xelayan tongue, had gotten hold of a vessel – how he's confident he'll never learn – to prevent the last of the nation's dynastic family from reaching the planet by blowing her out of space.

He's also royally pissed that in doing so they'd also come close to having killed his Chief of Security. And yes, as Captain he is supposed to view that fact objectively, not to let it cloud his judgment, but he'd ordered the woman - who had first volunteered - to go and bare minutes later she'd nearly died.

'Do not take such things Personally,' the Regulations of Command would tell him.

'Damned right it's Personal,' is his answer.

x

The annunciator is the ship's, or rather his visitor's, answer to him. He touches the door switch and his favorite person when he's struggling with an issue enters. "Kelly."

"I'm not disturbing you, am I?"

"I can't get more disturbed than I am now. Sit down," he invites his first officer. "So. How's your day going?"

He can read her surprise. She looks good surprised. "Pretty much the same as yours."

"That bad, huh?"

"I've known worse, but I can't remember when."

He wishes he could trade quips all day, but he's run out of spirit. "This ship needs a Chaplain."

"She'd be the most overworked member of the crew."

She? Well, that works. But to business: "What do you think, Kel?"

"I've a name or two I could run by you."

'Okay, not to business, that'd be better. If it were possible.' "Exploratory vessels aren't assigned Chaplains. Cruisers are. Battleships are. Space Stations are."

"And we handle more First Contacts than a fleet of Cruisers."

"You can't change Policy. Now. The Xelayans."

She tries to get comfortable in the chair. "What about them?"

"Too much about them. I can't figure it."

"Well, for what it's worth I could give you the scuttlebutt."

"Scuttlebutt?"

"Scuttlebutt is a valuable resource, even if you don't have to listen to it to decide anything."

x

He settles back in his chair. God it's good to have someone like Kelly to talk to. "Okay, give me the scuttlebutt."

"It's running seven to three _against_ our mission."

"Whew. How many people did you talk to?"

"Thirty. I didn't take from more than the Officers, most people have no idea of the complexities of our mission."

"What's Alara's position on this? I haven't asked, haven't had the alone time I could use, but if anyone has an informed stand on this it's her."

"She has none. At least none she'll admit to. 'As a Tankinite and Union Ambassador to the Regent, I'm neutral on all things Malmorian'."

"A very efficient dodge, professional and reasonable, and I'd use it myself. Well, I don't have to ask John's opinion on this." But something deeper in the issue concerns him. "You know, there should be more communication with the crew as a whole, keep them better informed about our missions, so they'll know what to be prepared for. They're a good crew, they deserve to know what's happening, if not day by day then at least on a semi-regular basis. Maybe provide some input and feedback. Within reason, of course."

"Of course. I'll set something up."

"It'll also serve to cut down on the scuttlebutt."

"Right." She looks like she thinks this'll expand it. She might be right.

"In the meantime, why don't you give me yours? You have the best butt."

She gives him a look that says 'only a former husband could get away with that'. "I think we shouldn't be doing this, that we're making a mistake. We're uprooting a woman - never mind one so pregnant Claire is running fifty-fifty on having to open a maternity ward - who left her planet because of politics and now is being shuttled back against her will to uphold a monarchy she's only a peripheral part of. She won't be Queen, she would have been a placeholder until her daughter was of age, and now the daughter's not going to be accepted or rule anyway. She'll be little removed from a wet nurse and who knows what that child will experience?

"They said they wanted to restore the monarchy. Now that that's impossible I'm sure they're going to have a Shadow Monarchy while the real bigwigs shuffle for power."

"You always could hit the nail on the head."

"This thing has too many heads."

x

"We can't apply human values or judgment to this," he says, "no matter how offensive the thing may be. Otherwise we're right back to where we were with Bortus and Klyden and Topa."

"Please."

"By the same token we can't turn around and go back, much as I'd like to. If they're telling the truth, and thus far I have no reason to think they're not, these Kiernáns are the only ones who can solve this by bringing order out of chaos."

"Well, you can drop the plural right now. There's only one 'natural born' Kiernán and not even that; the baby – until she's born and they get a look at her." Ed has also looked up some pictures of Raquielians and did some extrapolations on a Xelayan / Raquielian hybrid and decided the three second survival of the plan had been overly generous. But Kelly's not done.

"And even if the original plan hadn't gone south, by the time she was of age to do anything the Ministers and Sycophants will have had a thorough taste of power and no way were they going to give that up, most especially now for a half-breed who's not even an actual Kiernán."

x

"In thirty years," he says, "you mention the Kiernán Dynasty there, they're gonna look at you like 'what's that?'"

"Most likely of all," Kelly concludes, "is that Alara is right: the other parties, both DieTarpu and whoever else we haven't heard of or that will be birthed as a result of this disaster, will catch on to the ploy PDQ and there'll be hell to pay."

Mercer wants to slump in his chair, and would, but "There has to be another way."

"Well, this Varnus guy doesn't seem interested in looking."

"He's in over his head." This was obvious to both trained and experienced leaders. "I expect there must be a lot of them out there, a fourth assistant undersecretary for suburbs who now finds himself Minister of Urban Planning and responsible for rebuilding a city."

"I guess so. But they're not helping themselves very much by limiting themselves to one option."

"Tell me about it." He leans forward, elbows on the desk, and says intently "If you had your druthers–"

"I'd ruther we take Lalaíth back to Lintaris, hand her a basket full of baby things and tell her to screw her people and tell _them_ to screw their thick heads on, talk to the DiePartuns and solve their problems."

"You think they would?"

"Hell, no."

x

The minute stretches on, neither wanting to admit that there's nothing more that can be said. Finally Kelly says "Well, I have to go up and take more polls."

"See first what Alara has. I don't want to signal her until I'm sure I won't interrupt something."

"Will do."

xxx

Three hours into Beta shift Gordon Malloy steps up to his Captain's office, pauses outside the door and presses the annunciator. The door will either be locked in which case he'll come back - much later when he can't talk himself out of this move - or it will slide open as it does now.

Well, in for a penny, in for a buck seventy five.

He steps through and his oldest friend Ed Mercer is seated to his left behind his desk, reading something off the holographic image 'floating' above the emitter. He could look through and interpret the backwards image but since his Captain doesn't turn it off it's not classified. "Hey, Captain."

"Gordon, what can I do for you?"

"Busy?"

He turns the holoimage off. "What, are you kidding? I'm just trying to figure out, in the five hours we have left, some solution to an impossible mission and prevent disaster survivors from launching a Civil War and I had better ideas last night in my dreams. I can give you three minutes. What's up?"

"Oh, nothing, forget it." What is he thinking? Ed has more than too much on his plate, no time to concern himself with this. "You're busy."

"I'm trying to find a precedent, somewhere in the Union, for this situation that I can point to for a solution and, guess what, there isn't one. I could use a distraction and you look like you've got one."

"You could say that."

"Good, sit down and tell me."

x

Sitting down is the easy part. It lasts, however, five seconds before he's up and pacing.

"Well Captain, Ed, can I call you Ed?" He reads the surprise and wishes he could swallow that stupidity.

"Like you haven't done for years?"

"Years, right," he admits as he paces to the far wall beyond the couch and back again, hoping motion will spark his brain. "We've known each other for a lot of years. A lot of years." He turns from the desk to begin his third circuit. "A whole lot of years."

"This conversation going to take a whole lot of years?"

This makes him turn back. "No. It's just that, well, you've known me a long time. I've known you a long time. We've been through thick and thin, had each other's backs–"

"Two minutes twenty five."

He walks away, short of the wall, walks back to the desk. "It's just that I never expected…" another trip to the wall, another trip back, "I absolutely never thought, God as my Witness–" He breaks off and begins another circuit.

"Two minutes ten."

He whirls back. "God as my Witness I never ever thought I would fall madly head over heels out of my mind in Love with a Xelayan."

The Captain is locked in freeze frame. Then, after a five count, it breaks and he concludes "This is gonna take longer than two minutes."

x

It's going to take the time it takes the synthisizer to produce two double Zarmalian starbursts, to carry them to the couch and for the men to get comfortable, rather for Gordon to forge the image of comfort.

"So," Mercer breaks the ice. "Anyone I know?" The crew manifest reports the number of Xelayans aboard as precisely one.

"I think so, Captain."

"When did this happen?"

"The other evening. Her quarters."

"She's been keeping her Quarters at half Xelayan gravity." Right now she's in the Pressure Chamber in Sick Bay, set even more like home.

"Yeah, I, er, found that out. But only when she's alone."

"Hm. Must be something important for her to give that up."

"I'd like to think so."

"So," he takes a sip of the potent mixture. It nearly strips his esophagus and his sinuses will not be able to clog for a week. "Who said it first?"

"Don't know. It kind of… fell out together."

"That can be the best kind," he admits before another sip, the drink firing his chest while stripping the outer layer of his pericardium. As a nightcap, this can be as effective as a mallet upon the skull but as he has work to do it's already cut off time. "So, why come to me? You two fixing on making it legal?"

"What? No. No, we're staying illegal. Wait, that's not what I mean."

"Well then, you get her, what do they call it, 'in a family way'?" He'd have heard from Claire Finn if that had happened.

"No! No, it was only the two times. Besides, I don't think anyone calls it that anymore."

Two times since... "They used to, back when it could be a concern for the Captain." Gordon's face asks the question. "If you two aren't going to be conducting your business in public or she's not going to tear off a section of bulkhead and squash you with it, I don't see that it's any of my business. Keep the hearts and flowers in the arboretum and don't be shooting at each other on the bridge and this'll be fine."

"Thanks, Ed." He knocks back his untouched drink in a gulp and stands up. Mercer starts counting down from a hundred and hopes his friend makes it to his own quarters before this has to become his concern.

xxx

An hour later Mercer thinks 'I truly hate dèjá vu,' as he sits facing a trisected view of Admiral Halsey on the left, again seated before his wood lined wall and huge Planetary Union Central insignia, this time there being no shadows forced by sunlight. Lalaíth Kiernán is in the right image, restricted by gravity field and medical command to the Diagnostic bed in Sick Bay while another Xelayan official, this time a woman, occupies the center view.

It has taken this much time after his talk with Gordon (thank you for an interesting distraction) for the Xelayans to find someone to talk to but for a moment his eyes flicker to Gordon who has nowhere to go beside the straight line they've been on since before this mission went south. This is fortunate for the helmsman who's seated rigid as a statue clutching his board in a death grip.

x

"Gentlemen, I am Skulasta Etanne," the gray haired woman says, "and I speak for the Unified Coalition."

'How nice, they've put together a coalition and it's unified,' but he keeps this thought off his face together with the one that the woman is addressing a total of four women in her collective greeting. Hours ago they had faced a very ad hoc and officious official and they're now four hours from the Xelayan system.

"Ma'am." Does a Speaker for the Unified Coalition have a title? He's sure she does; politicians are never short of titles even when they're lacking food and water. "I hope you've been informed of the kink in your plans."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Okay, Cliff Notes version: your Line of Succession is broken, the baby Lalaíth Kiernán carries has a Raquielian father and is not your Queen, your plan is kaput, you need a Plan B and we are four hours out."

"Impossible."

x

"Excuse me, what part of this situation, besides all of it, is impossible?"

"There is no way that the child of Zarín Kiernán can be illegitimate. She must be the legitimate heir."

This has been going on for too long; he feels like either his head is stuffed with cotton or the Xelayans' are and he's willing to beat _some_ head against a wall. "Why?"

"The DieTarpu Party must _Never_ be allowed to wield political influence - of _any_ kind."

"Why not?"

Etanne looks as though he's suggested doing something biologically repugnant. He's tempted.

Instead he says "The Kiernán family has held power, as I understand it, for five of your centuries, which are a lot longer than five of mine, more like eight something. I know how I'd feel if that happened for a fraction of that time on Earth. Maybe it's not a bad idea to get some new thoughts in."

"Impossible."

"Then how about a system of cooperation? Some form of – of Coalition? Give and ta–"

" _Impossible_!"

" _Why_?"

x

'Okay, minus two points on the Diplomat scale for losing my patience but these people - no offense Alara - could make a Calivon seem reasonable.' "What is so horrible?"

Skulasta Etanne adopts a tone and cadence he'd expect from a failed first grade teacher trying to explain something to the slowest imbecile in a class of morons. "The DieTarpu Party advocates a system of 'self-government', where the masses would write and dictate their own laws and regulations for their own order."

"I beg your pardon – Madam," that was hard to get out, "but I fail to see how that can be so horrible. My own country on Earth has used that system for something like eight hundred years. It has its occasional hiccough, I admit, but on the whole we make it work."

"You say that with your own Prince as part of this conference and you yourself rule those under your control; and yet you claim you fail to understand?"

Halsey is mildly surprised but does not interject anything. To split the conversation might do more harm than good.

"The Admiral? He's not a prince." He knows that the Xelayans don't have much of a military, despite the ship that had fired on them, but through Alara's stress-filled stories of her parents he knows that the Xelayans don't have much regard for the Military as a whole, so he'll extend it and grant that this woman truly does not know.

"In the Planetary Union there are certain branches of organization. Among the military, though our focus is on Exploration, we are quite capable of defense and we have a system of ranks, of degrees of authority and responsibility. I'll be glad to share a couple of gigabytes but the bottom line is that Admiral Halsey out _ranks_ me and I am subject to his direction _on Planetary Union matters._ He does not, however, control my personal life nor do I think he would want to." He sees peripherally that he's right in that.

"And your Subjects?"

He feels half sorry for her. "I don't have subjects, I have a crew, all of whom voluntarily join to be here. They do have to obey my orders regarding the ship and their duties, but beyond the job I don't control them."

She looks like her head is nearing explosion. "Other than the 'job' they can _disobey_ you?"

He does not want to get into that; that's post-Grad work and he's feeding her 101. "We work together for the good of all. We cooperate because we want to. But off duty they have the freedom to do what they wish."

"And their personal lives?"

"Are their own business."

" _Ghastly._ "

He works hard to keep any expression from his face. "Well, I think here we can agree to disagree. But this is getting us no closer to a solution whereas the Orville is getting a lot closer to your planet."

"You have proven once again," Lalaíth declares, "why I will not cooperate."

"Be _Silent_! You Have No Say In This!"

x

'And it was all going so well too,' Mercer thinks, watching battle lines drawn upon his viewscreen. "Ladies, the minute that baby is born, whatever plan you have is _shot_ _to_ _shit_." He doesn't want to think of Alara's very probable prediction of Civil War fought upon the debris of that wrecked country. "Now Why Is It So Impossible To Find An Accord With DieTarpu?"

" _Because_ _of_ _Saquine_!"

x

'Wait a sec. I know that word. From Alara's briefing.' "Isn't that the country that founded, settled, whatever, Malmoria?"

" _Yes._ " She sounds like the explanation has been made clear, yet to Mercer the thing has gotten muddier. He risks a look to Alara, she returns a clueless expression.

"What have they to do with this?"

"The _Lanzrad._ "

He hardly has to look to Halsey and even Lalaíth's face shows a surplus of mystery and really hates to say "I'm sorry, I'm still not understanding this."

He hadn't thought it possible for Etanne to sound like she's talking to a worse idiot. "Saquine is a libertarian country, always has been. Their society is so liberal it hangs, second by second, on the precipice of chaos. They actually _elect_ their leaders, write and abolish laws at the will of the rabble, create and vie for offices and control and seek to limit and define powers that are of right hereditary. No order can be established upon such chaos. That is why our ancestors broke away five hundred years ago and established Order in the only way in which order _can_ be established, through a Monarchy. We broke away from Saquine hundreds of years ago, and in the Lanzrad we have our own voice, and it is always opposed to the position adopted by Saquine. Order rejects Chaos. It is a matter of National Pride. But DieTarpu has said they would _negotiate_ with Saquine on issues, reach 'accords'," which she makes sound cataclysmicly repugnant, "evenvote _with_ _them_ on some things. It would mean that within the Lanzrad the votes could be 2/9 in favor of or against an issue instead of 9 separate votes to fall where they may. There could be," she shudders and has to fight the word out, " _accord_ with those people. It would tip the balance unendurably."

x

The silence is oppressive and as it extends Skulasta Etanne looks increasingly victorious. "You understand now why this can never happen, why the Kiernán Dynasty must endure. To do anything else is stunningly unthinkable."

"Oh, I admit we're stunned, but not the way you think."

"It is of no matter what you are. You of the Planetary Union were charged to bring Lalaíth Kiernán to Xelaya so her child can assume power and that is not changed. _You_ , strumpet, will come down where your loyal subjects will greet you and for the rest of your lives you and your bastard daughter will see and be seen solely by _loyal_ subjects of the Misvar and her Vlarea. You will have the title and glories and you will be _obedient_ to directives so long as either of you shall live.

"Had you been faithful to your husband and your vows your fate would be very different, but you chose this life and you shall live it."

"I will not! I cannot stop this vessel from orbiting Xelaya but I will not go down. I shall go nowhere but back to Raquiel."

"The Planetary Union agreed to bring you home, and you will be put off that ship when it assumes orbit."

"No, she won't be," Mercer declares. "I don't care what she has or has not done, that is none of our business and we are not judges, but I will not force anyone into a life such as you've just described, most especially not for politics."

"Admiral Halsey, you will Order–"

"We agreed to bring Lalaíth Kiernán to Xelaya for humanitarian purposes, and when the Orville enters orbit we will have fulfilled that. You must find a solution."

"And since I have nothing," Lalaíth declares in perceived victory, "certainly no living relative within your reach to threaten or this never would have happened, there is nothing you can say or do to force me to come down. You have been told over and over again: find a solution."

"We _have_ a solution – and it will be implemented. Immediately."

" _Fine_ ," Mercer declares, seeing for the first time a light at the end of a long, bleak tunnel. "Great. I knew there was a solution if you put your minds to it. What is it?"

Skulasta Etanne rises behind her desk and pronounces " _Kin'kázka_."

Kiernán's face goes white with wide-eyed horror and he looks to Alara. She's white, and her hands are clamped over her mouth.


	11. Kin'kazka

Chapter Eleven  
Kin'kázka

Alara rises but all on the bridge can see she's forcing herself to move. The scream she'd blocked with her hands clamped over her mouth is still in her throat but she forces appalled words through it. "You…. _Wouldn't_!"

"Alara?"

She forces herself to turn to her Captain, forces her hands down but nothing can force the horror from her face or the whisper to any volume, yet the word is driven to every station on the bridge. "Genocide."

"We do not know how many DieTarpuns remain alive in Malmoria," Skulasta Etanne declares from behind her desk on the center of three images, Admiral Halsey on the left image before them and Lalaíth Kiernán on the right, "but when they are exterminated we need no longer concern ourselves with their politics."

"And your Lanzrad would support this?" Halsey challenges, praying she will see reason.

"The Lanzrad deals with Planetary issues, or between two or more Nations. This is our Internal Security."

Halsey is outraged. "Internal _Security_? The extermination of…. No. You cannot do this. We won't permit it."

"The Planetary Union has no jurisdiction in Malmorian affairs, nor that of any sovereign Nation."

"True," the Admiral grants, "but the Union is providing for and coordinating a massive Relief effort. We–"

"And once our population has been winnowed further and a distracting influence has been removed from our society we may well make do with what we have. At any–"

"I will go to Malmoria."

x

"Your Highness," but Halsey's effort is shaken off.

"Etanne will do as she has threatened, or someone else will." Her eyes shift to the image of the woman on her own screen in Sick Bay. "I will do what you have 'offered'."

"A ship will be dispatched to rendezvous with your vessel. No one from Orville will set foot upon our planet."

"Believe me, 'Madam'," Mercer declares. "I can't think of anyone who would want to."

Etanne's image disappears, Halsey's and Kiernán's shift to fill the space.

"I assure you," Halsey says, "the Planetary Union will use every diplomatic means at our disposal to resolve this."

"I know you shall try. Thank you, Admiral. Captain." She lowers her head back to the pillow, perhaps in defeat, perhaps seeing her very limited life to come. "May Lieutenant Kitan join me until I must disembark? It would be nice to spend time with a friendly Xelayan before I begin my… exile."

xx

'Is this Sick Bay or the Morgue?' Alara questions in funeral tones, answering her own thought as she passes through the inner door after a three minute acclimation in the airlock. This is but one aspect of this mission she will not miss. A human could not do this in under twenty minutes minimum, but the transitions already wear upon her nerves.

Claire Finn, in a pressure suit, is inspecting Lalaíth Kiernán with a scanner, the examination perhaps more thorough than it needs to be.

"If I could find a microbe out of place," the doctor pronounces without looking back to the closing door, "I would confine you, but not only does that bitch hold all the cards but your daughter is so close to coming out she's ready to pry her way free."

"Is it really that close?" is an unintended duet between Lalaíth and Alara, differed by inflection.

Claire looks briefly over her shoulder, admitting Alara into the conversation. "It's never so exact, especially when talking about an eleven month gestation, but I wouldn't rule out a photo finish at the hospital; and granting that the native conditions are far better for the baby." She steps back and leaves the pressure chamber.

As soon as she is gone, returning to the main body of the Sick Bay, Alara directs "Computer, restore enhanced gravity field."

Lalaíth groans as the gravity works it's way up over fifteen seconds to resume a pull five times what the outer room experiences. "I won't miss _that_ ," she declares when everything within her settles.

/Be glad we can do it,/ Finn says over the intercom, /otherwise I could never get close enough to help you at all./

"I am, doctor," she says. She cries out, clutching both her stomach and the large 'baby bump' as Alara's sure Gordon would say. He'd also say she'd given her mother quite a bump.

She should not be thinking about him right now.

x

"Ohhh, she didn't like that any more than these constant changes."

"You okay?"

"As soon as I can get her _out_ of here."

"I – We're three hours, thirty eight minutes from orbit," Alara says. "I'll stay with you until we see you off."

"Thank you, child," she says in tones more like her own.

It has been so short a time since they'd met, since a time when neither of them could stand to be in the same room with one another, and now…. "I'll be sorry to see you go. Oh," she corrects at the woman's look, "not because of all this, though this is so horrible, but… well, you're a Xelayan."

"Everybody we're dealing with is a Xelayan," she observes, eyes on the overhead.

"How can you be so…" she hunts for a word, finally settles on "calm?"

"Is that the impression I give? I have to do better." Now the woman looks at her and all shields are dropped. "No, I want to scream and rant and break things, but I must think of my daughter – and the DieTarpuns. I recognized that in Etanne. I've known people like her. She _will_ kill them for her ideal. Life won't be pleasant, but those people will live."

She boosts herself up on her elbows. "And who knows, even if I will have no power to help our people, maybe I can trust your people even if I can't trust our own."

Alara can read the depths of hope in that and the despair that she must make the comparison. "We shall see," is the Queen-Mother's final admission.

xxx

Three and a half hours later the massive planet dominates the expansive viewscreen, though for the first time Mercer can recall a new world fills him with neither fascination nor pleasure. The beleaguered northern Continent that has occupied so much of their attention is coming over from beyond the terminator. Were he in command of this mission rather than only of the ship, he would order an immediate reversal of course; let Lalaíth Kiernán and her daughter live out their lives upon distant Raquiel and to hell with Malmoria and Saquine and Lanzrad and DieTarpu and United Coalition and all else. Let just one family, one baby, grow up happy and he would be content.

"Captain," Lt. Clinton, the Beta Shift Communications Officer, calls "We are being hailed by a ship on approach from Malmoria."

'And they can friggin go to hell.' "Open the channel, Lieutenant," he directs without tone. 'Let's get this over with.'

/USS Orville, this is the space cruiser Kromstok out of Quintaru./

'What's left of it,' is his unkind thought.

/We stand ready to send a shuttle to receive Misvar Lalaíth Kiernán./

'Another uninformed crew.' The thought firms his intent to start regular status briefings with input from the crew as soon as Kelly can set things up, 'and you 'stand ready' when you _get_ here,' which by his view should be in about four minutes.

"Our Landing Bay is cleared. Once you are secured we will increase gravity to 1/2 Xelayan and atmospheric pressure to match yours. Do not attempt to disembark until then." With the displayed depths of intelligence he has had to deal with on this mission, he does not hold much confidence in what, to other spacefaring races, would be insultingly obvious.

/Complying./

He cuts the circuit, then opens another. "Bridge to Alara." The computer will record and direct his words to the appropriate Comm link on her uniform sleeve.

/Go ahead, sir./

"We've made orbit, and the Xelayan ship Kromstok is on approach."

/Yes, Captain. We'll be ready./

/Captain? I would like to thank you and your crew for all that you have done. I wish… that it could have…./

"We have a saying on Earth: 'Keep the Faith'."

/Thank you again. Keep the Faith./

x

Mercer has already decided that the Command crew will render an appropriate send-off from the control room above the bay deck and so, replacement crew at their stations, the senior officers are about to depart - with two exceptions.

"Bortus, keep an eye and the weapons on that ship, I don't care if it _is_ impolite. If they so much as blink their running lights wrong, _explain_ to them what a bad idea it was."

"Yes, sir." The basso profundo voice is practically a torpedo's detonation.

"Isaac, you keep a lock on that incoming shuttle; same order."

xx

Alara walks slowly beside Lalaíth, her attention primarily on the possibility of needing to render aid to the pregnant woman as Claire Finn follows beyond the enhanced gravity field. If something were to go wrong now, precious seconds could be lost while the computer admitted the doctor.

When they reach Deck 5 Aft Finn turns away with a final parting word to go through the stairs to join the command crew in the elevated control room. The Xelayans go to the door beyond which the chamber will be pressurized to match the ship's interior.

They step through, the door closes and immediately air is pumped in. It takes two hundred seconds, the shortest possible safe time before they can break the seal on Lalaíth's suit..

x

The dulled silver shuttle stands close to the doors to space as though the crew doesn't want to spend any longer in the human ship than it has to, but Alara knows she's projecting her own feelings on to the shuttle and its crew.

The starboard door opens and four men in blue uniforms with red piping disembark, but a sigh pulls Alara's attention from helping Lalaíth remove the pressure suit that is not designed for significantly pregnant women.

"The Tiranian Guard," she says in Xelayan, as they have spoken whenever alone. "Of course."

As they work on the seals the men draw close, three of them in a line, the one at the right a step forward. They wait until Alara has the heavy garment, five times heavier than usual, bundled under her arm.

"Misvar Kiernán," the one on the right says in a very Malmorian dialect with closed fist to forehead, fingers forward, "your Guard is prepared to send you home."

"If only you knew how wrong you are." Her Xelayan words emphasize the Raquielian accent she'd 'inherited' over the past years.

"Your Worship?" he asks, tone and expression equally mystified. Whether he has or has not perceived anything, Lalaíth doesn't care.

"Never mind." She turns to Alara. "I might as well get used to it," she continues in words that may or may not be translated for the officers who watch from above. She doesn't care about that either. "Titles and salutes and salutations by the cartload are my life now."

"The Planetary Union will not give up."

"I know. Thank you, my dear, for everything; the reminders and the patience and all else."

To hug is not the Xelayan way but hands to upper arms are not going to cut it this time. The Queen's Guard give a start at the embrace but she doesn't care and Alara is sure the woman does not either. When they break she places her open hand upon Lalaíth's very large stomach and whispers "Xinxis tupris ha vlas" which in the tongue is 'Xinxis be one with you'.

"Thank you."

x

Her look up to the control room is cut by English, an intrusion into the moment. "Highness, time to go."

Ironically her English reply is what she'd heard one of the orange jacketed officers in the pilot's station mutter during the four way conference that keeps her answer from the four men but Alara is hard pressed to keep her expression still.

When Lalaíth is ready, the men take up formal escort positions. The middle man faces about and takes two paces forward, she steps into a pace behind him and the two end men face about into flanking positions. The senior takes a place two paces right of the leading guard and they don't quite march toward the shuttle while Alara remains at the closed door.

Three yards short the forward Guard whirls and rams a long blade below her abdomen with such force it pierces her lower back, her shriek punctuated by the burst of steel and blood.

The other three draw long blades and ram them over and over through the woman's back and sides, aiming far below heart, lungs and all else.

" _ **NOOOO**_!" Alara's own scream fills the chamber as she charges the murderous quartet. Blood splatters the deck in red rain as the four stab and stab again, all targeting Lalaíth's womb.

Alara reaches the closest with a devastating kick that drives him to the shuttle but his partner's back swing catches her in her face and knocks her back and to the deck, though she rolls out of the fall and up to her feet.

These are Xelayans.

For an instant her quip to Gordon about being thrown through walls echoes in her mind as the leader and two flanking men surround her. For every attack she launches she counters two as her larger opponents get through, pound her with sledgehammer blows. She fights against their knives with skills they do not have, disarms all three yet holds her own for only the briefest moment.

The air is full of the sounds of the fourth knife skewering flesh and the smell of blood.

x

"Get Down There!" Mercer had yelled at the first sign of attack, fury high.

" _Can't_ ," Finn had countered from the controls, as furious at the murder and fight a score of yards away. "You can't move at a thousand pounds or breathe in that. Gravity takes 15 seconds but air takes 200. I put it on Emergency. That'll evacuate the air in 100 seconds."

"That's too long!"

"Faster may kill them all. She'll still suffer decompression sickness."

x

One of the guards catches Alara in a full Nelson, arms pinned high and back as the other two pummel her with pile driver force. Lalaíth is on her back, the blade slamming into her abdomen over and over, cast off blood raining upon the room.

"How LONG?" Mercer's fury could blow out the transparent aluminum barrier.

"Gravity is 2.1, pressure 94 psi." It has to be 14.7.

He looks out the portal, Alara's knees have buckled, the two men continue to slam their fists into her. She doesn't move except for the titanic impacts that rock her captor.

"FASTER." He ignores the sounds of his crew, eyes only for the woman below them.

"I can't or she'll–"

"Now or she's _dead_!" He reaches for the blaster that's not at his hip.

"Break the barrier, you'll kill everyone! Gravity 1.4, pressure 80 psi."

The assassins have finally noticed the dramatic change, the one who holds Alara throws her onto the deck and Mercer charges out, followed by the other men and women. He virtually jumps down the stairs, out into the corridor, slams against the locked portal.

Finn has locked it. He turns on her but the regret in her eyes halts him as she shakes her head.

'60' the meter displays. So _Damned_ _SLOW_! '50….'

Inside an engine whines, builds. Thrusters fire. The sound vanishes as the ship exits through the force field into space. '30… 20….' He slams his fist onto the Emergency button, the doors part with a blast of wind that staggers them back which ends when the meter falls to 14.7.

x

Mercer leads the charge through the portal. Inside Alara lays upon the deck, not motionless but writhing in pain. John LaMarr doesn't join the charge but looks to Lalaíth. She's still, her clothes as red as his crew-mate's but it's blood from scores of wounds that has pooled around her.

All those wounds are to her lower torso.

Alara writhes on the deck, bruising and bloody face contorted in agony she can't quiet. Every breath is a sharp cry through gritted teeth.

Claire Finn is among them, but she doesn't need her scanner. The beating, while horrendous, caused less damage to her equally tough body but "Too _Damned_ _FAST_! Nitrogen bubbles in her blood, her whole neuromuscular system," she declares as the woman convulses with a scream. "We have to get her to the–" 'Pressure chamber' is drowned out by a soul ripping shriek.

Gordon Malloy _shoves_ Mercer and Grayson apart, gets his arms under the convulsing woman, lifts her against him and runs. Finn must chase him as Alara screams onto his shoulder.


	12. Epilogue

Chapter Twelve  
Epilogue

Black is replaced by a sliver of light, a fraction more and the fog is red, then an oval of soft light that, with effort, resolves itself into a face eight inches from her own. She's laying on something soft, full out, with something softer upon her and she's warm. It's quiet but she doesn't hurt. The last memory she has was of light and a lot, a great lot of hurt.

She blinks the fog away and Gordon Malloy is on her left, face close as he's bent over her, inches from her, smiling if not as much as in moments she remembers enjoying very much. She's on a padded Diagnostic table in Sick Bay covered by a blue blanket and it's a lot quieter than she's used to for this area. He's bent so he's right by her, really close, as close as he was on those other times...

She locks on him. "Is this your human Afterlife, and you're my guide to Haavin?"

"Well, Heaven but you got everything else right."

"Was Claire able to…?" dies on his first shake.

"No." He won't tell her that, of the scores of stab wounds, none had been struck above Lalaíth's waist. The mother had never been the target. "Her body is here, in stasis. Normally it would be released to the family but that's what started this mess. The Captain won't release her to the government, no one even asked for it. He decided it's your decision."

It hurts too much to think of this, she fights to keep the torment from her face. She'll deal with this... she'll deal with this later, when she can think instead of feel. Memories assault and crowd behind memories and feelings and all else, desires and plans and hopes and dreams, if she thinks about then any more she'll cry and not be able to stop. "What time is it?" She feels like she's slept a week and wants a year longer.

"Fourteen hundred twenty six. Next day for you."

x

That doesn't make sense. "Fourteen hundred and a day?" She turns her head, all she feels up to. "We're alone?"

"Skeleton crew. Aid and assistance, using Gravity Suits but they only have one hour power limits so we fashioned a load of power units, though changing the batteries is dicy." She knows this isn't true, the greatest of care will be taken for the instant a suit fails... it doesn't bear thinking about.

"There are three hospital ships with adjusted grav plating and staffed with Xelayan, Deporite and Raquielian doctors and staffs. The Union pulled every hospital ship that'll fly, but only three have the adjustable gravity plating. There are a lot of hungry, hurt, frightened people down there."

"Hungry?"

"Synthesizers are out down there. Power's shot in most of the continent. Communication… pretty much everything."

She starts to sit up. "I should –" but runs into his restraining fingers on her upper chest.

"lay right here is what you should do for the rest of the day. That bastard on your left cracked two of your ribs. I want to crack his head. Doc fixed you. If I could..."

"I know you would," she says, his feelings making her feel good beyond the medicine masking the pain.

"You also suffered Decompression Sickness, what they used to call the Bends. The only satisfaction is that they did too and I'll bet their doctors didn't know what to do."

"I don't know, but I hope not." She tries again to sit up, he has no trouble holding her down with two fingers.

"The meds are hiding your hurts but honey you've got a lot of them."

"Yes?" It doesn't hurt much but maybe he's right. Xelayan to human strength, she should breeze past any resistance he'd mount, especially two fingertips, but she doesn't want to.

"I could use your body for a map of Luna."

Frown, pick up top of blanket, blue Sick Bay gown, lower it with a smile. "Just checking."

"I don't take advantage. I'll try my luck when we're both at full power."

"You may _need_ luck."

"I'll chance it."

x

Feelings she can no longer push back threaten to overwhelm her. She can't hide the pain, the misery, and she scrubs tears from her eyes. "Those bastard, bastard, _bastard_ _Bastards_!"

Gordon recalls how important family lines are to Xelayans; this is a satisfyingly intense epithet.

"And they murdered the only one who was on their side." She glances at Gordon and her heart's agony mangles her voice. "Duplis karondarv maqvir kalrongri _valquizmalkiv_!" Tears boil in her blazing eyes and she turns away from him lest he think her thoughts directed to him. "Kilvanti valkiznak _kuvlix bilqmazit_!" She raises her fist high. "Maquan truvildax maluvack _VastrivZAQMAXIV_!"

Her fist, her arm trembles; to bring it down is to smash the table out from under her.

Gordon reaches out, takes her shaking fist in both hands and holds her with as much gentleness as she has force. Her fist vibrates and he has no doubt that, were she holding his hands, she would crush his. "Don't hold back, let it out."

"I let it out I'll _smash_ the room."

"Not what I meant." As gently as he can, mindful of her wounds, he gathers her close. She turns into him, holds back as long as she can until, face buried in his orange jacket, her control is smashed.

x

It is a long time before her body has relaxed - collapsed? - enough for him to lay her back down, and the orange is burnished with her tears. She wipes the last from her closed eyes and lays still.

Finally "What's happening?" comes out flat and lifeless. He's sure she doesn't want to know, but it may be a safer subject until they can sort out… a great many things.

"Well, they were DieTarpu supporters."

"I figured that out when I saw the first knife."

"Easy when all you have to do when asked your politics is lie." She stares up at the overhead. "While you were making like Supergirl taking on three to one–"

This brings her back to him. "Who?"

"You'd've liked her, another super strong heroine."

She laughs but it brings its own ache. "I'm no heroine."

"Went unarmed against four of your own kind, each twice your size and armed with knives and what else to save a mother and baby?"

"And failed."

"You gave them a hell of a fight. I was proud."

She leaps up to the support of her elbows. "I _**FAILED**_!"

x

When the reverberation dies "Do you remember the day we lost Captain Mercer and Commander Grayson and you were stuck in Command?"

She lays back down again, doesn't want to hear of her earlier failure, not to be added to this one. "How could I not?"

"You didn't inspire _any_ one with confidence."

"Thank you so much. You told me I suck."

"Well, I'm sorry about that. You don't. It took the Order to _abandon_ them for you to hard boil your huevos. Never mind," he says to her bewilderment. "The point is you did hard boil them. You went in and did what had to be done, and today you did the same thing." He takes her hand, presses it between his. "That's a heroine in anybody's book."

"But I couldn't save–"

"She was dead the day she married him, it just hadn't caught up with her. That's why I stay clear of politics."

She shakes her head. Head down, eyes closed, she 'stares' at the overhead.

It won't let her out.

x

It's a minute more before she looks at him. "So. What now?"

"Captain says we're here for a week. Plenty of time for Supergirl, even if she is on Krypton."

She tries to puzzle that out, gives up. "So, can't go anywhere?"

"Nope."

She's quiet for a long moment. Very long. She turns away from him, can't hold.

x

"What are you thinking?"

"They're my people," she says quietly to the far side of the room, eyes not focused on anything. She could be looking at the Quantum Rings. "Millions are dead, families destroyed, lives destroyed and they bicker about politics. About tradition. About…." She pushes a tear away, one she'd like to deny, and turns back to him. "They would launch a pogrom, kill everyone who doesn't agree with them even if they can't recognize two whole crews. They're my –" for a moment she can't speak, then fights the words out. "My people."

"A few."

"A–"

"A few."

The silence stretches much longer.

x

"What do I do?"

She sounds so lost, so forlorn. He holds her hand more firmly in both of his, holds it warm and tenderly. Strong as hers is, his hands hold her secure and she doesn't want to lose that sensation, that grip. Ever.

"You go down there tomorrow, and you show them what a Xelayan _really_ is."

.

 _Fin_.

.

Next Episode: Chaplain's Log: Such personnel are not assigned to Exploratory Vessels but Admiral Halsey owed Kelly Grayson a favor. And when it comes in time to address a major mission, there must be a greater hand at work.


End file.
